


The Land of Might Have Been

by Book_of_Kells



Series: One Love, One Lifetime [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Child Loss, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Group Sex, M/M, Non-Graphic Smut, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Pregnancy, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-03-02 04:01:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 76
Words: 383,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2798786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Book_of_Kells/pseuds/Book_of_Kells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after the Battle of the Five Armies, Fili sits on the throne as he struggles to help his family and his people.  Kili is lost without his love, the elf maid Tauriel who was injured before the battle and disappeared. What becomes of a dwarf who has lost the love of his life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The hall was damp despite the fires in the large hearths cut out of walls of rock. Chimneys carried most of the smoke away but a charcoal gray cloud obscured the mithril studded ceiling. They weren’t too far from the surface, only a level or two but it was in the end, underground. While the rocks, ore and gems sing to some but withhold their melody from others, every dwarrow loved the rooted feeling of belonging to the earth. Whether the stories were true didn’t matter if dwarves sprang from the ground fully formed, all of them felt the pride in the restored kingdom.

There had been a particularly hard rain last night, giving the fields and forests some much needed water. The Long Lake wasn’t dry but the shores had been receding of late, revealing debris in its mud. The locals at Dale who had traveled to King Fili’s weekly audience day had been full of tales of washed out tracks and muddy roads, never the ideal when they were also bringing heavily loaded carts for the upcoming market day. As the sun climbed high over the tall peak to chase away the remnants of the night’s ill weather, many were thankful once again that their land had become prosperous once more.

Fili sat on his throne upon the dais, watching the throngs of people shift and ripple in the room as if they were snakes writhing in agitation, or a dragon. He pushed down the sudden spike of anxiety that always accompanied the thoughts of dragons. Sigrid, his one and his queen, had mentioned that now even after so many seasons since Smaug’s destruction, Fili would thrash in the night. The nightmares of fell things didn’t come often, sometimes not for weeks. Fili, himself, had no memory of these bad night dreams only the mornings he remembered clearly. Sigrid would be wrapped in his tight embrace, naked as a babe, smiling at him with her secret woman’s smile in spite of the bruises that checkered her pale hips and arms. She never complained, only saying that it was his body’s way of remembering that it was still alive.

The constant drone of the petitioner’s voice was more lulling than he wanted to admit. The older dwarf had intricate braids in his dark brown hair close to his face, signifying marriage as well as his trade as a craftsman. His wife was not with him but a younger son was. Fili wanted most desperately to help his people, all of them as much as he could. For the days after the Battle of the Five Armies, Fili had toiled side by side with them, thatching roofs in Dale, rebuilding walls, anything he could do to make up for the tragedy that had been wrought due to his bloodline. But there were some days that the monotony of kingship was wearing on his nerves. What he wouldn’t give for a good fight!

Fili’s glaze flickered to movement to the right of him, something black moving just past the tall dark stone pillars. It was Kili, dressed in black leather. He unslung his bow from his back, rotating the grip in his left hand, the taut sting brushing against his leg. It was just a slow ambling pace as if he didn’t have a care in the world though he watched the milling crowds to his right with a keen hunter’s regard. Fili felt his anxiety return with a vengeance at his brother’s appearance. Mutterings floated in the great hall as some noticed the newcomer. Kili the Grim, the King’s Justice, they whispered.

The petitioner had finished his request for an expansion of his living quarters for the new addition of his son and wife who wanted to settle in Erebor instead of staying in their home in the Iron Hills. Balin advised that there were now sections available in the newly excavated southern wings. He went on to advise that the older dwarf and his family would be welcome to move at their earliest convenience. Fili had been with the clearing crew a few days before as they tested the structural integrity of those southern halls. Smaug had broken a few of the supports but the walls had been well shorn to be loadbearing as well as decorative. They would be perfect for the growing families due to the larger communal spaces.

The older dwarf moved away with a deep bow to the king, thanking Fili again for allowing his family to come back to their rightful home. Fili offered the dwarrow a smile, his heart swelling with the feeling that someone was happy today. The next person was not alone but with two others. Fili’s lips curled at the sight of Dain of the Iron Hills’ envoy, Zigal, son of Zar son of Nar. There had been some ill feelings of late between their two kingdoms, not for Fili’s part but because the refugees who had settled in the Iron Hills now wanted to come home to Erebor. No doubt, Zigal was here to remind Fili yet again about Dain’s concern over losing so many of who he now considered his people. Why cannot the gods be kind? Fili thought in annoyance.

Zigal pulled a scroll from an inner pocket of his Mithril studded leather tunic, its light fawn color ripping with his movements. He had obviously packed his court clothes, or as courtly as a dwarf was inclined to dress. There were gold and silver beads in his beard instead of the regular stylized iron that most of his people used to signify their allegiance. There was a need to either show that the Iron Hills were still more successful than Erebor after five years of peace or Zigal was just being an open ass. It mattered not at this time, he would have to be dealt with caution.

“Your Majesty,” Zigal began with a sneering grin and a simple bow,” I bring you greetings from King Dain II, Ironfoot of the Iron Hills.”

“You are welcome to the court of Erebor, Zigal son of Zar. We are most pleased to see you again after so long.” Fili told the ambassador with a fake smile capped with a nod. Thorin would have thrown something at the offending man’s head by now.

Unrolling the scroll, he continued. ”King Dain II would like to express his concern, _again_ about the startling number of his subjects that are trying to relocate to Erebor. This good dwarrow preceding me who just now petitioned for the additional living quarters for his son and wife to move here. His son and wife are subjects of His Majesty, King Dain! I understand that your Kingdom needs a population but must you rob others like the predecessors of your line!”

The ambassador was flush by the end of his tirade, his silver braids with their jeweled clips swinging in agitation. Zigal thrust the paper in his hand to a dwarrow behind him who immediately moved forward to hand it to Balin. Fili could barely handle his anger at the man’s presumption.

“Zigal of the Broadbeams, representative of the Iron Court, as I stated before you grandiose allegation of me robbing my fellow dwarf kings, you are a guest in my kingdom. However, a guest doesn’t have the exemption of being so freely insulting. You will leave my kingdom today if insults were all you were sent to deliver. And as you so righteously pointed to this good dwarrow as your example, I would remind you that he is of my clan. Born here at Erebor!” Fili thundered as he rose from his throne at the red faced dwarf before him.

The poor dwarrow in question stood off the side turning a pale shade of green at being in the middle of a verbal battle between the King and the emissary. He shifted back and forth on this feet, nervously plucking at his brown tunic. Balin looked from Fili to the ambassador, raising his hands as if he could stem the deluge of arguments that would wash away the bonds of friendship between the two kingdoms.

“Please, Zigal, your majesty, might there be a compromise which would benefit..”

Fili held his hand up to Balin’s pleas, continuing as if he had never spoken. ”Yes, King Dain was kind enough to shelter those who did not wish to settle in the Blue Mountains. My people toiled for him and gave him tribute as was his due for what he provided. Now, he would begrudge them the opportunity to go back the hearths of their fathers?”

Looking over the writ provided in a frantic attempt to salvage the meeting, Balin interjected.” There is also a proposal of marriage from one of King Dain’s line to his highness, Prince Kili.”

Ignoring Balin completely, Zigal ranted. ”You would dare call my lord king a thief! Stealing from a beggar King at that!”

Zigal had put his hand on his sword hilt after he had passed the scroll to his lackey, though it could be perceived as a threat to a sovereign. Now his grip tightened on the pommel as he started to draw his sword, sneering at Fili as he did so. Fili snarled at the dwarf at his feet for his impudence, grabbing his axe as it leaned against his armrest. He took a fighting stance stood his robes swirling around his legs. But it was Kili who got to the emissary first.

The whistle of the arrow never registered to Fili but there was a long shaft with dark fletchings buried in the dwarf’s hand, pining it to his silver and mithril belt. Zigal screamed at the assault, grinding his teeth at the pain. His attendants rushed forward to his sides to keep him upright in the face of the coming wrath.

“You would seek to pull a sword against the King Under The Mountain!” Kili roared like a rabid bear as he strode forward pulling an Elven blade from his back as he did. ” My King, allow me to answer this insult!”

“Stay your hand, my brother.” Fili’s eyes never left cowering man as he shouldered his axe, taking a few steps down from his throne. Balin bowed low his head and kept it there as the king passed.

Dwalin, Balin’s brother moved out of the shadows along with several of Erebor’s elite guard. The armored Dwarrows took position in front of their king, hammering the stone underfoot with the butt of their axe handles. Many of the assembled shrank back after the screaming started but they stumbled over themselves to get away from the King’s Justice and the royal guard. The two attendants who travelled with Zigal had grabbed his arms as he screamed but they too bowed low at Kili’s approach. Neither dwarf looked further than Kili’s knees.

Kili put his bow away at his quiver, freeing up his hands and arms. At close quarters, only the Elves used their bows and arrows to such devastating effects. While Kili was an expert archer, it wouldn’t be needed against an opponent of similar size. Stopping two feet from the cringing group, he snarled at them softly in Khuzdul, though Fili caught the word ‘skinning’. The curved Elven blade made a low humming noise as its bearer twirled the knife, its hypnotic notes sounded like death’s lullaby.

Lowering his axe, Fili drew himself up to his full height. ”Master Dwalin, escort the ambassador, Zigal, son of Zar, son of Nar from the Lonely Mountain. The arrow however, remains here. Prince Kili, your continued protection of the Throne is most appreciated. Attend me in my hall.”

Kili’s face was impassive, no sign of his anger lingered as he put away his blade. It was almost a blank page beneath the few wisps of beard that he had not shaved yet. Even his brow was smooth without the cares or concerns of his actions. Or the repercussions. He didn’t bother to wear his cornet either, a symbol of his status at court. Extra princes did not always take the stance of protection that Kili had done, nor in ages past were they so active in hunting down betrayers to their King. The blocky crown that sat on his own head held all of the promise that his people could be in the future. At that moment, the heavy gold on his brow felt that much heavier for what it had taken from his brother.

Kili bent to one knee with a hand over his heart, his head low in homage. ”My life for Erebor, for my King.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere there's another land  
> different from this world below,  
> far more mercifully planned  
> than the cruel place we know.
> 
> Ivor Novello - Land of Might Have Been

The giggles that echoed out of the bath chamber never ceased to bring giggles from Sigrid too. Fili was busy bathing their three year old son, Fian, as well as himself. It was long ago decided that it was much easier to get the young dwarf to bath if there was someone in the pool with him. It had fallen to Sigrid to get their son to listen in the bath until she had become too large with their second son, Vian. She had proved to be a remarkably fertile bride, bearing two sons in four years. Their littlest terror would be nine months old soon and if Sigrid was very wrong, she was pregnant again.

Her baby had fallen asleep at the breast as she gently rocked him, rubbing the down curls that wisped at his delicate ear. Sigrid stood so that she could put him in his crib, making sure that he would be warm throughout the night. The nursery had once been the Athane’s bedchamber or Queen’s, spacious for her use with mithril infused carvings in the ceiling for decoration. But since Sigrid had become pregnant soon after their marriage, they had decided that a nursery was the better choice. At this rate, Sigrid thought with a smile, we will need new quarters of our own. Rubbing her hand over her light green wool that covered her lower abdomen, Sigrid sincerely hoped for a girl this time.

Since Tilda had gone to Gondor for their father, she had felt alone with no friends among the few Dwarrowdams that lived in the Lonely Mountain. There had been sniggering behind her back from those stubby little cows that the Dunlendings were the bastard products of Dwarves and the daughters of Men who had too easily spread their legs. She knew the women were jealous at being supplanted but the rudeness to their Queen wasn’t not to be forgiven. The Dunlendings may be an aggressive people of low intelligence but few Dwarrowdams still ran from them, Sigrid sneered at the whisperers to their face. She had no idea where those rumors had started but she refused to allow her children to be shamed by the small minded and vicious.

“Amad, Amad !” The little boy chanted as he attempted to slip out of his father’s grasp and reach for her over Fili’s shoulders.

“My slippery daring eel,” She giggled, wiggling her fingers to him as he yanked at his father’s braids, still trying to get free.

Fian had his father’s long nose, with a mop of blond curls though who had ever heard of a Dwarf having curls? Every once in a while, an expression would steal over his face, particularly when he was mad that reminded Sigrid more and more of her sister, Tilda. The King’s mother, Dis, had said that Fian seemed larger than a Dwarf child should be at his age, not quite as stocky as one would assume. But Sigrid wasn’t worried yet. If he were taller, he would be able to kick his opposition out of the way with better ease.

Fili spent as much of his time as he could with Fian, taking him around Erebor to show the little princeling off to the others. Many of the male Dwarves loved to educate Fian on the types of forges, giving him little toys that made him smile and laugh. He would come running home with metal horses or birds whose wings flapped as if in flight. As always, Fian’s joy was infectious, much like his uncle’s had been at that age. Sigrid knew that all of the inhabitants of the Lonely Mountain were a good people at heart. It just saddened her that a few rotten ones spoiled the bunch.

“All right, all right, Amagurith. Out you go!” Fili hoisted the young boy of the tub, putting hum under an arm, as he grabbed at the towels. Sigrid got a look at her husband as the water sliced down his muscles, his small clothes sticking to his hard body.

“Fian, tell your Amad that if she doesn’t stop looking at your Adad in that fashion, he will make her take a nap.”   Fili grinned at her while he said it. Sigrid just flipped an eyebrow at him as he rubbed himself with a thick towel, removing his small clothes as he continued down his legs. Nap indeed.

A knocked sounded on their outer door, to which Fili handed the struggling Fian to her as he passed. She watched him grab his clothes off the table, hopping into his leggings one at a time before throwing on his tunic. He opened the door wide so that Sigrid could also see who was calling on the royal couple as dusk settled on the Lonely Mountain. Balin and Dwalin stood outside the threshold, neither Dwarf looked happy.

“My King.” Dwalin spoke as they both bowed deeply to Fili. Sigrid said nothing as she stood in the doorway to the bathing chamber.

“Come in.” Fili said with a deep sigh. Sigrid watched as the tension that had followed him to their quarters earlier sank into him once again. Part of her heart wept at the sight.

Balin gave her a smile and bow before turning to his King. His dark blue and grey robes gave him an imposing air until you caught the mischievous glint in his eye. The long white hair and beard were not braided as he was unmarried, nor chose to wear clips of his family line. Balin was an excellent adviser but he was also kind. He had wholeheartedly endorsed Fili and Sigrid’s marriage, travelling with her to Erebor from Dale.

His brother, Dwalin was the opposite if possible. He gave her a closed expression, placing his closed fist over his heart before he bowed to her. He was quite frightening with his head shaved, exposing runes tattooed on his pate to match the ones on his fingers. Maybe that was the point, there was nothing soft about him. He wore no braids in his beard. A set of iron family clips pulled what was left of his hair into a tail down his back. His leather jerkin fit close to his body with multiple knives in the sheaths in easy reach. A large battle axe hung off his back. Why did he always have to be so armed, Sigrid thought with a frown, even indoors?

“Zigal and his company have left for the Iron Hills. He is patched up as well as to be expected. Oin was none too kind but then our guest was _not_ very polite.” Balin stated unhappily.” Kili is in his quarters. I doubt Dain will allow a marriage now.”

“As if Kili would have agreed. He probably shot Zigal out of spite for bringing the missive in the first place.” Fili shook his head as he took a seat in hardwood chair by the hearth, moving the purple pillows around to get comfortable. The fire crackled and spit as it devoured the logs, throwing light on Fili’s drawn features.

Dwalin walked in front of the fire, his hand on the ornate runes that adorned the mantle, the grimness following him like a cloud. He had not been the same since Thorin had fallen in the great battle but rightly so. Dwalin had would have killed every Orc with his bare hands if Thorin had asked, even at the height of his madness. Sigrid watched the imposing warrior as he watched the flames, his eyes were pinched as he stared. He was very careful not to get to close to the jars of herbs that she used to help freshen the room. Probably thinking it was woman’s drivel, or worse some fanciful habit of Men.

“Nevertheless, a marriage would have calmed Dain and maybe have eased some of the rage in Kili. He isn’t getting any better.” Balin told Fili who had started to tug at his chin braid, a sign of his agitation.

“He will not get better.” Sigrid said with a sigh. ”His heart is dead. Thorin killed it.” She could feel tears gathering in her eyes at her words. It was a harsh memory for them all but it made the event no less true.

Dwalin’s jerked at her words, his head snapping in her direction. ”Do not speak of him that way. You know nothing, woman.”

Fili was out of his chair in a blink, right in Dwalin’s face. ”Have a care, old man, how you speak to my Queen. Else, I will roast you in that fireplace.”

Balin pulled Dwalin away to the door while Sigrid attended to Fili, handing him a dry but naked Fian. Sigrid could hear the low murmurs form the brothers as Balin counseled his brother in gentle tones. She knew that she had pushed so it was up to her to make amends, to offer peace.

“Master Dwalin,” Sigrid spoke as she eased Fili back into his chair,”Thorin had his own demons that he carried. I do not know of what sort, nor do I pretend too. But Kili was his sister-son and Tauriel his love. Whatever his prejudices, why could he have not given them a chance to…”

“Sigrid. It’s passed. Years passed. ”Fili interrupted her with a tired voice. “Let the dead past bury its dead.”

Sigrid sank to pillow at her husband’s feet by the fire as he held their son, her skirts tucked under her legs. She laid her head on her husband’s knee though spoke as the brothers left the room. So much pain surrounded the days before and after the Battle of Five Armes, each of them were lost in their memories of a time best forgotten or at least, forgiven. Sigrid would never say “thank you” or bless Thorin in any god’s name, could never shame her beliefs that way. For if Thorin had not been so vicious that morning at the Overlook to both Tauriel and Kili once he discovered their love, Sigrid had no doubt that Fili, Kili and Tauriel would have died the next day on the Battlefield along side Thorin.

Fili had carried his brother back to the halls that sad morning, away from Thorin’s mindless rage and out of his sight. Oin and Fili had to tie his wounded brother to his bed to keep Kili from going after Thorin in vengeance though he could not stand upon his feet. Fili had told her how Kili had wept, begging for someone to find his love. Oin had to give him a tonic, pinching his nose to make him swallow to calm him, so that he could work on the wounds. The potion relaxed him to sleep after a time, and made him insensible for a day after that.

The second day of the battle after Thorin had been wounded, Fili had entered the fray. He had been magnificent by all accounts, hacking down Orcs with an intensity that inspired so many to remember Thorin when he was bloodied at Moria. But in the end, Fili refused to see his uncle on his death bed, refused to go when called. He had marshalled the forces, maneuvered the troops and bolstered their moral at every turn, though refused to shed a tear for the man who had raised him. Sigrid privately held the belief that had Fili not shown such prominence and vigor, he would never have been crowned. The Dwarves would never have followed someone who had hid in the mountain even to help his kin.

But Tauriel, poor Tauriel, had been taken away by her father and Bilbo to a farm near the lake side. In the months that followed as many began to rebuild their lives, there had been no word of her. Only that she had managed to slip away during the worst of the fight. Kili had recovered slowly, painfully. One day at a time. When he had finally been able to walk without difficulty, there had not been anyone who could say what had happened to his love. Bilbo, their hobbit companion, had left after Thorin was buried in a stone vault with the Arkenstone laid upon his chest. Gandalf had been absent as well, constrained by Sarumon the White for his interference thus far in affairs of Middle Earth. Bard was the only one left and he only knew that she had left from the lake farm. The owners had not survived the battle to tell her tale. Slowly, ever so slowly, the happy light died in Kili’s eyes.

Stirring in his chair, Fili hugged his son close to his chest. ”You shouldn’t be so harsh with Dwalin. He will never understand that what happened was wrong.”

Sigrid leaned forward, putting her chin on knee. ”Maybe not. But I can not help but think sometimes, had Thorin lived, he would have refused to allow us to be together. Just as he did Kili and Tauriel.” Reaching up to rub his arm and his son’s leg, she continued. ”I would not have your love nor our children.”

Threading his fingers with hers as they grasped Fian’s wiggling leg, Fili smiled at her with glowing affection. ”You had my love with I popped out of your toilet. I knew that you were my One in that moment.”

The smile ran away from his face as he lowered their son to her as he stood. ”I have to go see Kili. I can wait no longer.”

“What will you do?” Sigrid implored her husband as she had so many times in Kili’s defense.

Fili walked to the door before he turned to look at her over his shoulder. ”I have my love. I think it is time he found out what happened to his.”

********

The rhythmic scraping of stone on steel filled the room, bouncing off the smoothed walls. There were no candles lit, the only the faint glow from a dying fire. The door was cracked with a view of the hearth and ironbound chest to the side. Fili pushed the door ajar but didn’t enter, he might be King under the Mountain but he wouldn’t enter unless asked.

“Come.” A disembodied voice sounded from the right deeper in the room.

Fili walked in, his eyes sweeping the room as he entered to find his brother sharping an arrowhead with his feet up on a table. The table itself, was covered with assorted knives and various whetstones. It seemed as though he was sharping the arrowheads from one quiver to put them in another at his side. Kili had not bothered to change from his black leather that he had been wearing earlier but at least his boots were clean.

Fili looked around the room again. Where Sigrid had made the royal chambers theirs by weaving rugs, adding spiced herbs to the fireplace to help with the damp, musty smell, Kili had done nothing. He had taken a room in the Royal Hall as he was a Prince of Erebor but it was just a room, somewhere he slept. Their room in the Blue Mountains had filled with things he had made at their family forge even a large metal dragon that had hung with distinction from the ceiling in spite of their mother’s misgivings. Kili had been as at home in the forge as he had on the training field. But this room was lifeless, barren. Just a bed, a table with chairs, chests for weapons and clothes. I suppose Sigrid was right all along that Kili’s heart is dead, Fili thought with despair.

Until he noticed the Elven blade. ”This was hers?”

Kili stilled as he looked at the knife, Fili watched him as he turned the arrowhead to take in the edge. ”Yes.”

“We need to discuss today, brother.”

Kili nodded before he put away the arrow in the quiver that hung the right side of his chair. Still clutching the whetstone he stood, pushing the chair back until it bumped into the bed deeper in the shadows of the room. Fili grabbed a chair by the fireplace, taking a jug off the mantle. There was no way he was getting close to the bed, the rumpled sheets probably smelled. Kili brushed the short hair from his face as he walked to the hearth taking another jug for himself.

“Do you think shooting Zigal was a bit extreme?”

“Do you?” Kili asked before he took a swallow.

The first word to his lips was no but Fili knew that would accomplish nothing. ”He is an emissary.”

“He is an annoying ass. Dain sent him to stir trouble.” Kili walked over to the heavy clothes chest, sitting on the lid so that he was close to his beer but in his brother’s sight.

If someone walked past the open door, they would see two brothers having a drink. Not a king with a happy family trying to talk to his destroyed brother. The irony the perceptions wasn’t lost on Fili.

“Yes, he was.”Fili agreed. ”So why give him what he wants?”

“Fight him now, fight him next year. Might as well fight him now.” Kili put the jug down by his foot before he scratched the side of his face, completely unconcerned about discussing the killing of their cousin. As far as he was concerned, Dain was a threat that needed to be resolved.

Fili took in his brother’s mourning state, no beard to speak of nor braids with his hair shorn to his ears. ”Kili, it has been five years. It is time you found out what happened to her.”

“Dain was asking for a marriage alliance. Is this your way of broaching the subject?” There was no crack in his facial expression, stone upon stone bricked up his emotions.

Fili shook his head, his braids with the metal clasps clicking loudly in the quiet room. ”No, I would not.   You marry your One or not at all. We never found out what happened to her, where she went after the farm was burned. Once you were sufficiently healed, there were inquiries but no real information. You stayed with me to help rebuild Erebor. I know this and love you for it.”

Fili got out of his chair, placing the jug on the table as he passed. With a wrench, he yanked his brother off the chest, hugging him close. The only bond stronger for Fili than the love he had for his brother was the love he had for his children and wife. Not the Lonely Mountain nor the gold in the Treasure Hall would ever mean as much to him as his family.

Pulling back Fili looked deep into his brother’s eyes. ”I love you, my brother. I will always be here for you. But your bitterness is poisoning you, casting you into shadow. Leave in the morning, go find your One who completes you! “

There were tears streaming down his face from his impassioned speech but Fili noticed that his tears had company. Seeing his brother cry out his pain gave him hope that all was not lost. He just prayed to Mahal that on this journey Kili would find his One, his soul and be complete again.

“What….What about Dain? I cannot just leave you with the fallout of my bad humors.” Kili grabbed his brother’s shoulders as if to remind himself to the current situation, not to fly away to where his heart would lead him. “What if she will not have me, after all this time? What if she blames me for what occurred?” He added softly, the real worry evident.

“Dain is my problem, not yours. He will be handled. But Tauriel defied her King to come to you, defended you against Orcs and fell creatures. There was love there in her eyes for all to see. She could never blame you for Thorin’s madness.” Shaking Kili slightly to emphasize his point, Fili added with a smile. ”My brother, look to yourself. It is time you ran away from home!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you sooooo much to everyone who has posted comments, kudos and have read it so far. Thank you, Thank you !
> 
> I have picked with the dwarf tradition of mourning, no beard or braids to signify loss. Kili doesn't know what happened to Tauriel yet, he just knows she isn't with him, hence the continued mourning. I would like to think that the dwarves would come out of it in a year or two but Kili's anger isn't letting him go.
> 
> I figured since Sigrid was a woman, she might be a lot more fertile than a Dwarrowdam..that is why they already have 2 kids with the possibility of a 3rd. The Dunlendings thing came to me on the fly, as a way to show that there might be some comments against her for being from Dale and not a dwarf.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can give you the starlight  
> Love unchanging and true
> 
> ~Ivor Novello~

_The wind had picked up, whipping the loose sand on the Overlook into dust devils that swirled around the assembled and stung their eyes. But it wasn’t the sand that made Kili’s eyes water. Kili awakened tied to posts with a bad head pain, his bare feet sliding on the slate gravel beneath him. The region was known as the Desolation for a reason, nothing grew here. Only the rock had survived Smaug’s destruction, hardy things to like the dwarves themselves. Kili looked around the barren plain, trying to remember what happened that ended with him outside without his weapons._

_Her.. oh please Mahal.. what is happening to us?!_

_Two Dwarrows that Kili didn’t know, keep a bound Tauriel on her knees. There was a bruise blooming on her creamy cheek but it was the dark crust of blood from her busted lip that drew the eye. I don’t understand it, Kili thought, she was just going to Dining Halls for something to eat._

_They had made love on and off for a while, just trying out the bed in the new chamber Kili had appropriated. Tangled legs and camp blankets kept them warm as they snuggled into each other. When Tauriel had pushed away from their nest complaining of hunger, he had tried so hard to convince her otherwise. Only after she allowed him to braid her hair once more with the makeshift betrothal beads, did he admit defeat. Kili had said he would go in her stead, bring Tauriel whatever her heart desired. She had laughed softly, the auburn braids mixed in her long hair brushing against him as she kissed him whispering, No,_ Rwalaer _, I shall go._

_He had fallen asleep while waiting for her to return from the dining halls, confident that she would wake him when she returned. But she didn’t. Kili awoke later without Tauriel’s warmth beside him, the embers glowing low in the fireplace though he had seen Tauriel toss another log into the blaze before leaving. Getting out of bed, he grabbed his leggings to search for her, the odd feeling of her having been gone a while niggled at his brain. Dawn would be breaking soon, maybe she had ventured outside to the Balcony. He had become accustomed to her lying with him as he slept since their time in Bard’s cellar and found he liked it very much. The curve of her body around his with her breath on his neck in the dark, the giggling confessions. Their love was new, still hesitant touches and blushing smiles._

_Both dwarves who held her down were black of hair with intricate beard braids that singled that they were warriors of a long line. Their leather was dark stained as if they had not bothered to clean themselves or their weapons. Who were they? Kili could see there were iron manacles on her arms as well as her legs in addition to the ropes that bound her body. She must have put up a fight, the bastards had cuts on their faces, one had a braid pulled out of his beard. The bald bloody patch glared off his chin, a humiliation that he been caught unaware._

_“Let her go, fuzz from a Balrog’s balls!” He screamed at the Dwarves across the way. Kili could hear others behind him but due to his bound state he couldn’t move to see._

_“Such vigor after a night between a she-Elf’s thighs.” A voice stated as a fur coated Dwarf walked into view._

_Erebor had been reclaimed but there was dissention between the groups of Men and Dwarves at the moment, arguments over the treasure and who was owed what. There was an Orc Horde on the march to their gates with groupings of fell creatures the likes of which had not been seen in an age. Thorin had not been the same since the Arkenstone had been recovered, its proximity awakening a crazed element in his uncle’s eyes._

_“My King, what are you doing?” Kili cried straining against the posts. He could feel them shift slightly so he began yanking harder to get free._

_“Do you deny bringing the enemy into our home as your doxy?” Thorin didn’t look at him but stared at Tauriel bound before looking at the view of the Lonely Mountain._

_“Do not call her that!” Kili yelled in affront.” She is my One! I love her and would have her as my wife!”_

_There were gasps and murmurings behind him, as if the idea of a Dwarf taking an Elf to wife was unthinkable. Kili pulled harder at his bonds, the ropes were starting to cut into his wrists. Tauriel had said nothing so far. Her calm demeanor incensed Kili further, why was she not fighting this farce they were subjected too?_

_“Kili, I would see you dead before I let you befoul yourself in such a manner. It will not happen so long as I am King Under the Mountain.”_

_“KILI!” Fili was shouting behind him but he seemed so far like he was running from Dale._

_“Uncle, please! She saved my life when I was struck with the Morgul arrow, dying from it’s poison. You should be thanking her for my life!” There was shuffling noises and arguing between Dwarves. Fili was yelling at someone though Kili could not make out who._

_“Well, since she saved you from Morgul poison. Let us hope that someone returns that favor.” Thorin turned away from the edge of the Overlook, looking at the two Dwarves and Tauriel.” Stand up the Elf.”_

_Time slowed to a crawl. Kili could see Thorin advancing towards Tauriel, pulling a long black arrow from his belt as he did. It was strange that Kili had not noticed it before now. The two Dwarves had hoisted her to a hunched standing position but they held her arms in fast grip. He could hears screams, they were loud in his ears, though fear held him in a tight grip. He could see nothing but the scene in front of him._

_Thorin was ramming the serrated tip deep into her upper thigh. The blood, so red like his, spitting out of the wound._

_Tauriel’s anguished screech at the pain of the arrow driven into her leg._

_Thorin moving towards him, drawing a long knife as he did so._

_The world narrowed further with a red haze at the edges. He would kill Thorin for injuring his love._

_The words ’You will stay where I put you’ echoed in his ears as a blinding pain in his ankles robbed him of his ability to stand._

_The screaming continued but Kili understood that it was he that was doing the screaming. Tauriel was laying on her side, her tears sliding into the dust and rock beneath her. Her eyes were on him, filled with pain but oh so strong. Her gasping breaths stirred the sand even more. Kili hung by his wrists still bound to the wood posts, he could hear groaning as the thick shafts tried to bear his weight._

_Suddenly, a strong arm wrapped around his middle, taking the weight from his bleeding wrists. A knife was sawing at the ropes, making them twitch and his arms shake. He could see Fili’s golden head on one side holding him as another worked on his other arm. Fili’s scared face swam in his rage soaked consciousness, he would be no help against the monster that was their uncle._

_Bilbo knelt down to Tauriel, cutting at her ropes. Tauriel…_

 

“Tauriel!”

Kili awoke with a start, her name still on his lips. The tentacles of fear squeezed his heart even now after so long. Seeing her in so much pain, the knowledge crushed him that he had not been enough to stop it. What was a Dwarf for his One, if he was unable to keep her from suffering? His own blood kin had tortured them. Sitting up in bed, he scrubbed his face with blunted fingers, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Even in the dark, he could feel the nobbly, scarred skin around his wrists, permanent gifts from the binding ropes.

Unable to shake the memories that had invaded his dreams, Kili shoved the quilts aside as he rose from his bed. It was a swirling black shroud, those memories. Fili was right, his pain was eating him whole. Kili padded nude across the room to the mantle for the last jug of beer sitting on the end. Fili had left but not without stirring things that Kili drank himself into a stupor to forget. He took a long pull from the spout almost spitting it into the fire due the sour warmth as his eyes lit on the runestone on the mantel.

The bucket of water he had placed beside the fire should had lost its chill by now, so he could wash a bit before dressing. There was a bathing chamber at the end of the hall but since his mother had taken residence here, he tried to bath in his room as much as possible. The thought of seeing his Amad naked was mentally scarring.

Squatting by the bucket he could feel the pull of the old wounds at his ankles as he balanced on the balls of his feet. Thorin had not cut deep but deeply enough to slow Kili down. While not maimed for life, it had taken seven full months to get full range of motion back as well as his equilibrium. He had filed away the maneuver for future encounters, disabling an opponent might be less than honorable but Kili would be the one walking away.

As he reached for the linen cloth that he used for drying, he saw the Elven blade on the table. Tauriel had not left with her weapons when she went to the Dining Hall that night, thinking that once she was in Erebor with him that she was safe. The two Dwarves that had held her had been from the Iron Hills, part of Dain’s advance guard. The bastards had been waiting for her in the narrow passages on Thorin’s orders, Kili had learned later. Small spaces would neutralize her height and prevent effective defense. The Dwarrows, Kili remembered them fully, the petty things that had dared touch his love. They had not long survived. One fell during the great battle, the other it seemed couldn’t run faster than one of Kili’s arrows. Or his blade.

Someone had hit Kili on the back of his head as he had left their chamber in search of her, waiting in the darkness like a coward. Kili had never seen a face or knew a name but one day he would. Thorin had passed to the Halls of Waiting before Kili had settled that particular account. Now the last words spoken between them were of anger, hate and prejudice. Once upon a time, he might have cared for the deterioration of Thorin’s mental abilities, for the man who had raised him and his brother. But now no. Not after seeing his love weeping at his uncle’s hand.

Kili had been transported to this chamber in the Royal Hall long after the Battle to help him recuperate under a healer’s care. So many had been injured and fought for their lives that they too needed a strong bed. His mother, the Lady Dis, took in the chamber next door upon her arrival, having made the long trip from the Blue Mountains for her brother’s funeral. All of his things had been brought to him, but none of Tauriel’s. No one knew or would say what happened to her clothes and weapons, only that they were gone. It was like they vanished into thin air without a trace.

_Inikhdê._

Kili rubbed his bare chest at the ache that spread under his skin when he looked at the runestone on the mantel. He dropped the jug by his side, uncaring if it broke. Return to me, he thought, I cannot live with our separation. Dis had made him promise to return to her at the end of their quest, pressing the runestone in his hand to remind him to have a care for his reckless nature. The stone sat in easy view, reminding him still. Tauriel had demanded no such promise of him when she had pledged her love in Bard’s cellar, only that he allow her to be at his side.

_Amralimê_

My love, return to me. The words echoed in his head just as her screams reverberated in his ears upon waking. The anguish of her disappearance had driven him to do mad things, take unforgivable risks. Kili had found himself out in the wilderlands on many occasions, killing wargs and Orcs for the sport instead of the defense. Even the Men of Dale would step aside after a few nasty brawls at a local pub. He didn’t care for living, save protecting Fili and his family. The long days since he had seen Tauriel had become a blurred trudge. His mother and brother was safe, that mattered. So was Sigrid and his brother-sons. The rest could mind themselves.

Staring at her knife laying on the table with its elegant curved lines, Kili realized that he had to lay his ghosts to rest. He didn’t want to be an old dwarf with regrets, never knowing what might have been with the love of his life. There had been talk about Balin leading a force to retake Moria now that Erebor was reclaimed and Dale was resettled. Those Orcs needed killing too, if for other reason than to retrieve the burial ground of his people there.

Before his brain had registered the action, Kili found himself at his clothes chest, packing tunics in a rucksack. If he did this, went on a quest for Tauriel, he would be gone a while, leaving his responsibilities to his King and his home. Kili stood dripping a puddle in the floor while holding a half filled bag, his mind at war with itself when a loud knock banged on the door.

Quickly wrapping the linen around his waist, he shouted. ”Come.”

Dwalin pushed open the door, with a grumble. He wore a simple tunic and leathers, not belted and armored as was his want even in the early mornings. Dwalin had a chamber just off the Royal Hall as captain of the Erebor’s Elite, needing to be close to their King. He obviously had not be making rounds yet to check the night guards else he would be kitted to the hilt with bladed weapons, just in case a squirrel or a raven was too talkative.

The tall dwarf bowed his tattooed head in genuine homage. “My prince.”

“Mr. Dwalin.” Kili grabbed a pair of trousers as Dwalin closed the door. After the long months in Thorin’s company, modestly was not an issue between the two men.

“I have come to speak with you about Erebor business, please forgive the early hour.” Dwalin spied the bag next the open clothes chest. “Do you have a mission?”

Tying up his front, Kili gave Dwalin a hostile look for his curiosity. “What business?”

“Balin has asked me to treat with Linnar of the broadbeams. There is a daughter in his house that has reached maturity.” Dwalin watched him close as he spoke. “A pretty Dwarrowdam might be what you need, laddie.”

Ignoring the comment, Kili reminded him. “Was not Zigal a Broadbeam? Does Balin think they will hand over a ‘dam to Kili the Grim?” He found he was growling at the tattooed man by the end, not really caring either.

“I will do as I am bid, Zigal or no. But if you are going to be away for a time, the trip will wait.” Dwalin would use it as an excuse to stay out of the Iron Hills where Linnar’s Folk and other Broadbeams dwelled. He had not love for Dain nor wanted his hospitality.

Kili turned away to grab his pack from the floor. “My business will not take me away long. Balin knows statecraft better than I. If he wants more Dwarrowdams in Erebor, then by all means.”

“Maybe she will turn the King’s head away from that fishwife.” Dwalin groused forgetting to whom he spoke. ‘Fishwife’ had become a nasty moniker for Sigrid as her father had been a bargeman before taking the crown of his ancestor’s in the newly resettled Dale.

Kili was in the older Dwarf’s face in the space of a breath, chest bumping him back a step. “Do you speak ill of my Queen, Dwalin son of Fundin?”

Kili’s expression was calm but his eyes were not. Dwalin looked deep as if to challenge for a moment before lowering his head. “Forgive me, my Prince. It is early yet. My tongue got away from my mind.”

Sigrid was an unpopular queen due to their women in Kili’s opinion. The Dwarrowdams ruled their society since they were so few. When one in three births had the possibility of being female, it skewed the statistics of a balanced community. The ‘dams married who they wished, birthed the striplings in their own time, ran the households with a firm if not iron hand. Crimes against them were punished by death of the worse caliber, if the offender was lucky. So when a princess of Men, even an ally, snaps up the most eligible bachelor for many leagues, the princess should be lucky not to get knifed in a dark hall.

Kili let him withdraw his comments, for the moment. As member of the Company, Dwalin was allowed a more lenient line than anyone else would have been. Walking to the table, he looked over his whetstones when he heard Dwalin mutter. “She isn’t _my_ queen.”

Before Kili could respond, a voice lashed out to flay the skin from Dwalin whose back was to the open door. “If Sigrid isn’t your queen, then you have no place here!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very much to everyone who has comment and left kudos! I never expected for this au to have this kind of reception!
> 
> Note* In the book the Hobbit, the Master of Laketown wined and dined the company for two weeks before they set off to the Mountain. I am pushing the company's time in Mirkwood's cells closer to three weeks so that Tauriel and Kili would have more time together.
> 
> JRRT uses the term 'Stripling' for young dwarves instead of dwarfling.. so I did too.  
> Not liking the dwarrowdams, evil heifers...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two most powerful warriors are patience and time
> 
> ~Leo Tolstoy~

His Amad, Dis, was a stout Dwarrowdam of middling years and possessed a suspiciously stiffer spine that many would not know at first glance. A hurricane of emotion churned on her face as she stared at Dwalin. Rage, despair, grief blew away whatever happiness that might have been present to crinkle the corners of her eyes and expose her dimples to the world.

“Master Dwalin!” The whip of her voice cracked again as she slammed the door, only for it to bounce against the jam. Kili knew her rage well enough to be happy that he wasn’t in its path.

“Princess…I meant..”Dwalin bowed his head but he didn’t grovel. Dwalin didn’t grovel to any.

“I know your meaning. Now, you know mine! If ever again I hear such sentiments from your lips, you shall be banished from this Kingdom. Now, your brother has a job for you, does he not?” Her blazing stare was hotter than the furnaces below, scalding the great Dwalin, son of Fundin with vicious intensity.

“He has, my Princess.” Dwalin didn’t rise but held his position as a sign of respect for the King’s mother. Kili could see him clinching his jaw to hold back the words that begged to come tumbling out, making the situation that much worse.

“Then go. My son has packing to do.” Dwalin moved around her, never expecting her to make way for him. As he neared the door, Dis’ voice lashed at him once more. “Master Dwalin. I meant what I said, no one speaks ill of Erebor’s Queen.”

Dwalin nodded his bald pate to her though Dis didn’t spare him a glance. She stood as if a steel bar had been rammed into her spine, regal in every sense of the word. It was not hard to imagine her growing up with jewels braided in her beard or diadems on her smooth brow. She was truly in that moment a daughter of the royal House of Durin’s Folk for all of her plain dress and simple gold beads.

Of course as soon as the door closed, Dis was sneering at it like petty dwarf drunk from the local tavern. “I cannot understand him. Dwalin knows how Fili loves Sigrid!”

“It is bad indeed if Dwalin has taken such a position.” Kili huffed at the door, uncertain of the political undercurrents. “Why is Dwalin bringing back a Broadbeam ‘dam?”

“A new tidbit for the cats to fight about, I imagine.” Dis breezed about the room like a vibrant tornado. ”You are not packed!”

“What?” Kili replied with a stupid expression on his face. What was she talking about?

“Fili has your piebald ready downstairs and he is sending Daisy too as a spare. I think the ponies have been eating their stalls in boredom so this will be good for them. Hurry, Kili, for the love Mahal. I have the kitchens packing provisions as we speak.” She spoke with an urgency as if it had been decided that he would leave today to find his one, even clapping her hands to wake him from his stupor.

Dis took the bag from him with a smile before pushing her thick son towards the weapons’ chest near the bed. She unceremoniously dumped the bag of its contents off to the side, away from the puddles on the stone floor. His mother mumbled the whole time about unclean Dwarf habits as her long skirts swept the dirt on his floor for him. Kili still stood there, watching her in confusion, trying to puzzle out what was happening in his room. When had his sleeping space become the central nexus of Erebor? Fili, Dwalin, now his mother?

“Well?” She said making shooing motions with her hands as she turned to resume repacking his leather bag.

“Amad, do you know what Fili wants me to do?” His words stopped her, making her straighten though she didn’t look to him. The steel was creeping back into her form once more.

“Yes, Fili came to see me last night after he left you.” Turning to face him now, she continued. ”I have seen what you have become, my son. And it hurts me to no end. I know about Tauriel, who she was. It was her name you screamed in your sleep each night as you healed.”

His throat closed, trying to hold back his grief. Those long months of healing had been the worst of his life. Fili had been there when he could, though with helping everyone all at once, he mostly slept in a chair in the corner. Weekly caravans arrived bursting with refugees to Dale from the burned Laketown as well as the unscrupulous people who looked to steal from those who had lost so much. The ones who had survived the battle had the hellish welcome of a whole new category of suffering beginning as a very bitter winter’s cold teeth sunk into their lives. There had been times Kili wondered where his brother found the strength to start each day anew.

Walking to him, Dis clasped his hands in her own. They were dry with a rough texture of heavy labor but the warmth seeped into him nonetheless. ”There are no words to explain how empty we are without our One. We mourn so deeply for our ghivashel. I had hoped that since you are so young to lose her now, the mourning would fade in time. But it has not.”

“Has anyone considered what will happen if I do find her?” Kili persisted with obvious determination. He wanted there to be no doubt of his intentions, that he loved an Elf maid and would not let her go should he find her alive.

“We have hope, Kili.” Dis touched his scratchy cheek with a smile. ”That if you bring her back, she will bring you back. _To yourself_.”

Kili smiled at her, the stretching of those unused muscles felt good after so long. Kissing her hand against his face, he looked around the room before going to the chests to help pack. He had been Kili the Grim for too long, like a sleepy hound that was just now shaking off his warmth to wag his tail again. He pulled different knives out, testing each in an effort to make his selection before he went to the next. He lifted a full quiver of arrows and his other bow. No sense not being prepared. At the bottom of one chest rested a small leather bag. Kili stared at it for a moment before grabbing it too.

“Amad, pack this towards the bottom of the bag, please.” When she looked to him, he tossed the leather bag in her direction.

“Oh Kili ! These are..” Dis stared at the contents of the leather bag that she had shaken into her hand.

“Yes, they are.” Kili cut her off. He had made the mithril beads after taking an orc club to an ankle, being off his feet gave him the time to work with his hands.

There were tears in Dis’ eyes as she watched him finish his packing. Kili said nothing when she dropped the objects back in their bag to place them in the rucksack as he wished. ”I loved my brother. But Thorin was a great fool. Too much pride, too much hate.”

“I do not wish to discuss Thorin, Amad.” Kili said as he continued pull his weapons. “Not now, please.”

He and Fili refused to discuss those last days with her. They had both come to the same conclusion that at least someone should have good memories of their uncle when they did not. Unfortunately, the rumors had come to her once Dis took residence in the Royal Hall. Fili had told him that Amad had sought out Balin and Dwalin for confirmation before deciding to tear into the offending Dwarrows that would try and besmirch her beloved brother’s memory. Balin had been frank about some details and vague in others. Much like the King and the prince, the older man saw no need to hurt the princess with details of her brother Thorin’s madness. Dwalin refused to say one thing ill about that time, leaving Dis to form her own conclusions.

“Fili has some theories on where she could have gone. I believe it was a process of elimination.” She grabbed his cloaks to fold them around two short knives, tying the ends like a bedroll.

“He has not said if there has been anything new reported.” In truth, no one mentioned her name now. Not even in passing.

Dis finished packing the bag in her hands, stacking them by the door. They would be slung over the harness affixed to Daisy’s back to allow Kili a greater range of motion on that black and white monster of his. She watched him dress, saw him place the Elven blade at his side belt. Kili slung a full quiver on his back along with his primary bow. It was warm out so there was no need for him to wear the heavy cloaks now but he would take them as his mother had them tied with extra knives. Hefting his weapons’ bag, Kili gave Dis a smile once more, liking the feeling.

Together they left his room, Dis was telling him that she would have it cleaned since she thought it had bad odors. Amad and Sigrid both had opinions on damp smells, having lengthy discussions at family meals. Kili could see many Dwarves at work sweeping the great hall, the young Dwarrows had house duties until they went to their weapons training the afternoon. Dwarrowdams were never expected to clean, that was a stripling’s job.

Many of young Dwarrows bowed their head in deference to Kili but gave Dis a winning smile. Here and there, she would stop to offer some advice to one or ask another about his family. She seemed to know everyone in the hall, greeting them by name, while Kili could barely make out their ages by the color the jewel on their tunic. His mother was a wonder, he realized, to be able to keep up with so much aside from all she did for the Kingdom.

A caste system had set up by age for the Striplings to give them a sense of accomplishment in this new world they were creating in Erebor. It was a way of monitoring their Individual learning level as they would advance up to the next degree. Each caste had a jewel associated with it, affixed to the left side of their tunic. It was an old system that Fili reinstituted to keep the young striplings from mischief until they apprenticed but also to get them used to being around gems and feel their song.

Dis knew the nook and crannies of Erebor having explored it at length as a child. Now she shared that knowledge with others as well as her grandson. Having two small children close together could be a hardship to many females, so Dis would take Fian on walks to show the young princeling their home. It had been a shock when Sigrid began having children so quickly, where a normal Dwarven marriage lasts for years before the first child is born.

An older Dwarrow paused a moment to speak quietly with his mother. Her deep laughter bellowed in the tight confines of the hall they were passing as the Dwarrow handed her a basket. He watched as she oo’d and ahh’d over the handcrafted toys, gifts for Fian and Vian. Kili understood that his mother was loved here, where Sigrid was given a chilly reception in some cases when she tried to help others.

Dwarrowdams ambled their way passed them, in groups and signally. Many touched their beards to draw his eye or smoothed a hand over an ample bosom attempting the same thing. What they had failed to understand was that they were not a willowy Elleth with hair a red darker than rich wine. The disgusting flirting annoyed Kili greatly, making him want to throw a tomato at the nasty females. While throwing food was accepted at the table, throwing food at preening Dwarrowdam would land him in a heap of shit. Even his title would save him then.

One separated from the group, curvy with long skirts that brushed the floor. She paused in front of his Amad but she batted her eyelashes at him in a sickeningly coy fashion that had Kili turning away to shift something on his side. He couldn’t hear their conversation as the ‘dam made a request of some kind but his mother’s reply was crisp that the young Dwarrowdam would need to speak with the Queen about any dances that could be arranged. The princess drilled into her further why coming to the King’s mother was such a breach of etiquette. The young girl was pink cheeked at the end of the dressing down but it was forgiven when Dis admired a lovely pair of earrings that she was wearing as they walked away.

Kili looked at Dis as they continued. “You were harsher with Dwalin than that girl.”

“That girl can be trained still.” His mother laughed as Kili shook his head.

As they exited the underground kingdom out onto the balcony, arm and arm, Kili was aware of just how much his family loved him and how much he loved them in return. Young Dwarf children ran down the slopes towards the meadows, their musical laughter on the breeze combining with the birds’ song. Thorin’s prejudices had been buried with him along with the Arkenstone, but some ran deeper than roots of the mountain. Old anger at Girion for failing his task, Thranduil the Oathbreaker. Yet seeing the children and the happy faces of the milling crowds, it appeared as though that life had returned to Lonely Mountain at last.

And so his quest for his One had begun…..


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sky is blue  
> The night is cold  
> The moon is new  
> But love is old  
> And while I'm waiting here  
> This heart of mine is singing  
> Lover come back to me
> 
> ~ Billie Holiday - Lover come back to me ~

 

As Kili expected, it was a nice warm day outside. The summer was still clinging to their world but the nights had a chilly bite of coming fall. Young Gimli held Kili’s black and white pony, Warg, who was trying his hardest to take a chunk out of the stripling. Warg was ill tempered but he was a good steady mount, proving himself again and again that he liked a bit of a fight. Grimbeorn had gifted the mean spirted pony to Kili three summers ago when his own had been shot down by Orcs at the northern end of Mirkwood. The skin changer’s only explanation was that Warg caused too much disturbance in the herd. Daisy, however, grazed off a grassy patch beside the young russet hair Dwarf, her placid nature making her an excellent pack pony. White with yellow patches on her rump, she looked as sunny as her namesake. But it was the sleek blood red chestnut behind her that had Kili puzzled.

He was a fine mount, long legs with a deep chest built for long distance running. At his withers, he stood over sixteen hands, obviously a Man’s horse. No Dwarrow would attempt a steed of this size. The chestnut’s reins were tucked in his breastplate so as not to be dragging the ground. The saddle had an Elven look with the tooled artistic scroll work at the knee flaps and the back of the dark leather seat. The animal’s wedged shaped head was up, the nostril’s blown wide to catch Kili’s scent on the breeze. There was a Mearas somewhere in his lineage, so acute was the intelligence in his gaze.

“Did you think I would let you go alone?” Someone said behind him. Bard, King of Dale walked over to the large horse, running a hand down his neck.

“You are needed here, Bard. Not on my quest.” Kili frowned as he took the Man’s hand in friendship. Had everyone decided to take a day off from work?

“Not me, him. Fili sent a messanger to ask and I agreed.” Bard pointed to a young man in travelling leathers walking with Sigrid and Fili, holding little Vian in his arms. ”It is time Bain saw something of the world. He will need it if he means to rule after me. Besides he has a good sword arm with a longer reach. You may need it.”

“I have no words.” Kili told him as he shook his head in wonder, because truly he didn’t. Bard was a good Man who had help the company in their times of need.

Bain was the Prince of Dale, his father was trusting him with his heir. If all Bain ever knew was the expanse of Dale and the Erebor, he would still be a good ruler. However, going out onto the road, seeing life and other peoples of Middle Earth would give him a broader experience. It could only help him once he took his father’s crown. Kili had seen Bain learning to shoot bows in Dale, with practice he would be very good. Dwalin, he knew had worked with him using swords when he had the time, Nori when he didn’t. Kili grasped Bard’s hand in gratitude.

“Just find her, Kili. Start with Rivendell. The Elves there are more open to the other races. She could not go to Mirkwood for help, not after leaving against orders. But she might have gone through it. A captain of the forest guard would know a few short cuts.” Bard gripped Kili’s shoulder. ”I wish Gandalf was here. He would know. But he has not been seen for an age.”

Nodding to Gimli, Kili tied off his bags to the back of his saddle. ”You were there that day. You helped her from the Overlook after..” Kili stopped, unable to continue. The old pain still had keen edges.

“I did. We got her away as the first of the Orcs reached the plains. The other Elf met us at the bottom near Dale. The one she had traveled with to Laketown? He helped us get her to that farm before speaking with Gandalf as well.” Bard’s face broke into a grin as his grandson, Fian latched onto his leg.

Tauriel had told him truthfully that there had been no understanding between her and Legolas, only friendship. Thranduil had forbidden any pledge, had made it very clear that Tauriel should not encourage him. She had instead relayed her childhood growing to maturity as a Silvan with a Sindar princeling for a playmate, learning the forest secrets before the webs began from Dol Golduir. Tauriel spoke of Legolas as _mellon_ , a friend. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean that Legolas didn’t have feelings or resentments due to unrequited love. Kili was dreading the Old Forest Road and any who they would meet, be they spiders or angry Elves.

“So Mother had to get the whip after you, did she?” Fili said with a laugh as he walked up to him, tossing Vian in the air as he did. The little boy giggled as the wind blew his golden curls, grabbing at his father’s beard.

“You need to let Vian walk some, build up those leg muscles to support that giant ego he will inherit from his father.” Kili groused as he tickled the boy’s armpit. “How your Athane manages to get room in the bed with you and your ego is outside my understanding.”

“She sleeps on my _ego_.” Fili told him with a smirk before he handed his son to his wife’s father as well.

Kili just shook his head at his brother’s humor. “Thank you, Fee. For all of this.”

“No thanks are needed. I despise our people calling you Kili the Grim.” Fili said as he watched his anxious wife, smooth down the collar of her brother’s coat. ”He will watch your back, do not worry. Bard told you to start in Rivendell?”

“Yes, it seems a good place. Lord Elrond might know something, even if she did not go there.”

Walking over to Daisy’s pack, Fili lifted the flap on her side, pointing to a wrapped package. ”Orcrist. I thought since we didn’t bury it with Thorin, it should go back to Lord Elrond. It was forged by his kin, might make him more helpful. Plus, there are several pouches of gold hidden on Daisy and that beast of yours should you need it.”

After much hugs and kisses with the family, Kili and Bain mounted their steeds, getting settled in the saddles before they headed off the mountain slopes. Warg got a nip and a tug on Gimili’s hair before Kili could stop him, but there was no hair hanging from the demon horse’s mouth or blood dripping from Gimli so he wasn’t concerned when the young russet Dwarf rubbed his stinging scalp. Gloin, Gimli’s father, had insisted that the young Dwarf learn horses, there were none worse than Warg in Erebor’s stables.

The wind whistled down the Overlook as the horses picked over the rocks as they passed Dale. Bain waived to a few people in the distance while Kili merely nodded. At a distance, they looked like a Dwarf and a man on the road. Two travelers instead of two princes on a quest with the Long Lake on their right and many miles before them.

*************

Dis watched her youngest and his companion ride into the distance with a sense of dread. This wasn’t like his impromptu trips to kill the foul things in their world, or chase down a possible threat to Erebor. Whatever he found on his quest would change him for good or ill, this time it would be absolute. It was hard for her to let go, but it would be selfish to keep him here at the mountain when everyday he became a brittle copy of who he had been before the company of Thorin Oakenshield set out for Erebor. He would never be that same boy again who left the Ered Luin, the one who had laughed at the antics of squirrels and rabbits. Those days were long gone, leaving Dis to try and understand the son who she could not reach.

When Fili had come to see her last night, the first response out of her mouth had been no. No, she couldn’t let him go into the wilderness to find an errant Elf maid that had not bothered to return to him after five years. She might be his One, the other side of his heart but Tauriel had made no attempt to contact him. As a member of another race, she probably didn’t understand what it meant to be loved by a Dwarrow in such a fashion. Dis did not care that she was an Elleth, she worried that this woman may not have found Kili to her liking after all.

But Fili, her sweet eldest child had convinced her in the end. He had spoken of what he had witnessed in Lake-town. The desperate healing of Kili’s leg and the physical costs the Elf had gladly given for his life. A wane paleness had plagued her for the day afterwards as she resolutely stayed by Kili’s side. Fili had also told her of what he had seen between her and the Elf prince, of how she incurred the wrath of her King and possible banishment to come for Kili in the first place. Was that not love?

With a sigh, Dis entered the coolness of the Grand Entrance, hoping that she had not made a mistake. A voice called out from the left as she gathered her midnight blue skirts to take the stairs to the upper floors. Suddenly, the sapphire chocker at her throat felt like a noose than an ornament.

“Princess!” Dis inwardly cringed as the loud voice echoed in the expanse.

She turned to look at the Dwarrowdam hurrying in her direction in a dress of simmering yellow. It was a beautiful counterpoint to her black hair and amber eyes. As she neared, Dis could see the subtle gold and topaz jewels in her hair braids and beard. The braids themselves were not as elaborate as she was wont, platted only at the temples to curl into a cornet at the top of head leaving the back of her hair flowing about her shoulders. The gold and ruby clips anchoring the braids were strategic, the facets catching the torchlight to create a halo effect. Dis fought off the sneer at what the little bitch was implying with her hair. Youthful Queen indeed!

“Princess Dis.” The ‘dam said once more as she drew near though the smile slipped a notch when she noticed that Dis made no move to leave the stair, looking down at the young girl from an elevated position.

“Lady Herja. You are most… vocal this morning.” Dis let a slight smile play on her lips as she watched the Dwarrowdam’s eyes narrow at her as she bowed her head. Just you try it, Dis thought as the Lady debated her course of action.

“I would speak with you about possibility of a dance before Durin’s Day. It would be ever so much fun and..” The smile was practiced, Dis could see as it never made its way to the girl’s eyes as she stopped at the bottom of the steps.

“I spoke with one of _your_ circle just an hour past on the subject. It will need to be approved by the Queen as she is head of the Dwarrowdams.” Dis spoke the words but letting a smile play on her lips to somewhat soften the words. No would could say that the King’s mother didn’t understand firm courtesy.

“The bargeman’s daughter? Really my Princess, what would she know of Dwarrowdams?” The dislike was plain on Lady Herja’s face as scathing venom dripped from each word. The girl gave a haughty air as she folded her hands behind her back to brace her feet in defiance.

“Bargeman’s daughter, you say? Queen Sigrid was a Princess of Dale in her own right before she took my son’s hand in marriage. Dale, I might add, trades with us so that we survive here under the Mountain. While the gold is pretty, you can not eat it.” Dis emphasized her point by leaning forward to brush the back of her fingers over Lady Herja’s beard.

A scowl crossed Lady Herja’s face at the insinuation. “Six years ago, she was cutting fish heads out on the lake while her father groveled to Mirkwood!”

The light of battle leapt into Dis’ eyes as her smile became razor sharp. “Six years ago, your Amad was making toys for the children of Men so that you and your brothers would eat through the winter. I remember you taking jobs in Ered Luin as a stone mason’s apprentice when your father was killed. So let us not forget our own humble beginnings, my Lady. None of us are where we were six years ago.”

Dis turned from the fuming Dwarrowdam to make her way up the stairs. The bold bitch could rot in the Long Lake for all she cared but it didn’t solve the long term problem. Dwalin needed to get to the Iron Hills and soon.

*************************

Bain and Kili turned south heading, towards Mirkwood and the bridge over the River Running. They were making good time, though Kili knew he was being impatient. It had taken a full day to get out of Erebor and passed Esgaroth, giving the horses time to rest so they would be fleet the next day going through Mirkwood on the Old Forest Road. When the sun had set, they stopped the horses, making sure to keep Warg well away from the others. Kili and Bain had decided to camp beside the Celduin across the river from the road’s entrance.

Kili didn’t know Bain well, despite the fact that his sister was now married to Fili. The young boy who had help them in Laketown before Smaug’s destruction was growing into a fine man. Kili’s grim persona for the last few years had not been very open to others even those who were extended family. He had not been very open to anything.

But Kili found that Bain was a thoughtful lad, yet very curious. His education had been pushed forward upon his father’s ascension, prepping him for one day being King himself. Some aspects of culture differences had been explained where some had not. It had been an uncomfortable lunch when Bain had asked why Kili wore no beard nor braids despite the elaborate affairs that many sported around the Lonely Mountain. It was not a spiteful request merely the natural flow of conversation. Kili had explained that a Dwarf might cut his hair or shave was in mourning, but he did both because Tauriel was far away and took his heart with her.

Bain had tried to dispel the awkwardness by telling him of Isen, the chestnut who had been a gift of King Fengel of Rohan. A blood red colt had been found floundering in the river Isen by an Eored on patrol. The colt was caught, haltered and taken to the King at Edoras though none could ascertain his lineage. The King called him Isen after where he was found as he grew from a colt to be as temperamental as the rushing river itself. The animal had been trained by Riders of the Mark, taught to stand as well as respond to commands from his rider if he was on the ground. Bard was not fond of horses, having grown up on a barge with the shifting water beneath the wooden planks. So Isen was given to the Prince at his feast day last year, who bonded with him immediately.

He was a powerful beast and no mistake but he had the good manners to not try to race Warg with his shorter legs. Warg was not cooperating much so far, which worried Kili on how he would be in the days to come. The piebald kept trying to bite at the larger animal when he was near, snorting at him when he wasn’t. Daisy was the happiest of the three, since she trotted along, never stumbling or pulling on the line wrapped around the saddle’s horn.

Bain had started a low fire, just something to keep away animals in the night. It was a cold fare that Bain put out, baked rabbit pies with nuts and dried fruit. There were other things packed that would travel well, dried meats, breads, cooking spices, but Kili knew that they should run across game not to ignore it. Fili had not given him a time limit so conservation was in order. Dis had put in a bottle of wine and beer, but Kili thought to save it until just before they reached Rivendell. Something may happen, a wound in the Greenwood that would require strong spirits to clean it. However, Bain and Kili agreed beer was better for drinking not sterilizing a cut.

Kili had not wanted to scare Bain overly with any talk about the Mirkwood Elves. Fili had negotiated a settlement and a treaty with Thranduil, Balin’s help had been invaluable during the process. However, there had been no mention of Tauriel during the discussions, nor had Thranduil’s son, Legolas been present. Thranduil had left Erebor, annoyed but pleased in the end if he had the patience that he claimed. The white gems had been found in the Smaug’s hoard along with other objects that were of Elven make. Fili had agreed to give one gem to Thranduil every fifteen years with the stipulation that should the Dwarves need assistance, the Mirkwood Elves would pledge to defend Erebor and Dale. Once the gems had been returned, Balin and Fili hoped that there would be enough good will between the Elves and Dwarves that renegotiation would not be necessary. The Treaty would bind Durin’s line to the Elves in perpetuity.

Kili laid on his pallet under the stars, but since he had not drank enough beer to kill a small farm animal, his thoughts circled back to his lady. He wondered if Tauriel was looking at the same night sky as he. Maybe she was in Rivendell or Lothien right now staring at the heavens, remembering him. She had always loved the starlight, saying that the Wood Elves preferred it best. A shaft of pain at the memory of her smiling face looking up at the moon made him turn away from the silvery twinkling in the sky.

Across the fire, Bain slept on snoring lightly, oblivious to Kili’s distress. He had not the real experience of loss to understand Kili’s painful state. At seventeen, baby years for a Dwarf, Bain had not felt the crush of first love nor its disappointments. Surely, there were several lasses in Dale that would love to catch the eye of the Prince, but so far Bard had kept his son on a short leash. Maybe, there might be an opportunity for the young lad to have a tumble with a willing barmaid.

Kili rolled back and forth his side in a vain need to get comfortable, drawing the blanket over his shoulder. One day gone but many to go, he thought as he shifted to his back, breathing deep the evening air. His whirling thoughts began to settle allowing the fatigue to darken his consciousness. Kili had no way of know that on the other side of the river, eyes watched in the darkness and waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello ! A quick update  
> I appreciate everyone who has been staying with me as I post this interesting departure from the mainstream LOTR and Hobbit storylines. If you have read any of my other stories, I try to stay close to the characters portrayed but in a different setting. A situation of what could of happened to the character if they had left the room 5 minutes later type thing...
> 
> Since JRRT took the names of the dwarves from the old Norse text Dvergatal, I went to the Nafnapulur for some of the Dwarrowdam's names. It would make them OCs so the tags will change appropriately. The Dwarrowdam Herja was the name of a Valkyrie meaning to devastate....hmmmm....


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faces there are always fair....
> 
> ~Ivor Novello - The Land of Might Have Been ~

It was just past the cresting sun when Grithur carried the new armored helmet wrapped in a cloth out of his workrooms, heading for the Captain’s chamber near the Barracks wing. He possessed a deft hand with intricate metal work, doing more ceremonial pieces for the new King and his lords. Since Erebor had been restored, the Armoursmith guild had arranged its hierarchy in such a way that Grithur’s talents became admired by all as a true example of Dwarvan metallurgy. He may have started with plate and mail that would see battle, but now he worked mostly with Mithril, gold and precious gems.

He looked at the shiny metal that peeped through the cloth that he had spent the last two weeks crafting into the artwork he held in his hands. The small Mithril spikes at the crown twinkled in the torchlight, balanced by the duller iron laced with protective runes. It was absolutely stunning and probably his best work. He nodded to the few Dwarrows up and about this early, as Striplings ran back and forth bringing wood to stock up for the day’s work.

When Captain Dwalin had asked for a helm to be made for the Crown Prince Fian for Durin’s Day, Grithur had been slightly nervous. As the King’s oldest child, he would be front and center for the activities so it would have to be his best work. Balin son of Fundin, had given many ideas while his brother had been very quiet only saying that Grithur was the best under the mountain. Anything the master did would be what would please the Royal couple. It wasn’t just wanting the helm to be perfect that tied the armoursmith in knots, the young prince was worthy of his best.

Grithur had seen the royal Stripling at a distance with his Gamul Khagun, Princess Dis or the Thane, always so happy and smiling. Whether it was the influence of his Amad or the fact that life was easier on the children than it had been in the Iron Hills, he couldn’t say. Life was happier here than it had been at King Dain’s holding, making the amoursmith feel blessed each day of his return. Though the King’s brother was a harsh specter in the dark corners of the Erebor, he was even handed in his judgments of offenders to the crown. Doubtful that the stubby knobsucker, Zigal would agree.

Hurrying along the corridor, Grithur paused in the open doorway to see that Captain Dwalin was not there, his axes missing from their place over his desk. Dusty rolls of parchment littered the floor with no reason or organization. The fastidious dwarf felt his hands twitch around the helm, giving him a wild urge to tidy up the obvious disarray. His own workrooms were spotless, not because a Stripling apprentice cleaned behind him either. Grithur had learned very early that a neat, orderly forge produced the best results. With a sigh at the clutter, he headed off to see Balin, hoping that he wasn’t busy.

As he neared the councilor’s door, he heard a high laugh of a woman. She chortled as if Grithur had just missed the punch line to the joke that had her so amused, a fully belly laugh that a Dwarf could appreciate. He smiled at the sound, unable to help himself. Balin’s chamber door was always open, it was part of his charm too. Anyone could knock and ask a question but the answer might not be as expected.

Grithur sat back on his heels when he realized it was the Athane herself, with a mess of giggles that had brought tears to her expressive brown eyes. Gosh, he thought, the Queen! She stood up straight away, still laughing to pull a startled Grithur into the room. He was at once happy and scared as he quickly hobbled a bow. No one in the Dwarfish history would dare to touch the Athane without permission, more over that she lay a hand on him was surprising.

“You must not stand in doorways, master dwarf. You are not in the room nor outside of it yet in between.” She laughed at her own humor as Balin chuckled along with her.

“I..I.II” He stammered as the Sigrid gave him a beatific smile as she took her seat once more.

“Grithur, this is Sigrid, Queen under the Mountain. Athane nen, this is Grithur of the Armour Guild and by far the most talented.” Balin supplied as he got up from his chair. “Ahhh?! Finished?”

“Yes, last night. Captain Dwalin is not in his office.” An embarrassed Grithur held the cloth covering to Balin who accepted it gratefully so that the Queen could not see.

“Dwalin left this morning and will be gone for a bit. But I will take it and arrange payment.” Balin told the Dwarf as he placed the object on a shelf below his desk with reverence and a smile.

“Balin, I see you have business so I will leave you to it.” Sigrid stood from her chair but sat back abruptly as if her legs went out from under her. She had a confused look on her face as she took a deep breath to touch her forehead.

“My Queen, are you well?” Balin rushed to her side, taking her hands in his. “Shall I call for Oin?”

“No! No! I just don’t think I have eaten much today.” She gave a laugh once more as she patted Balin’s arm. “But I really must get back. Vian will be in full energy.”

“Grithur, would you be so kind as to escort the Queen? I would hate myself to the Dark Deeps if something happened to her!” Balin scowled as Grithur nodded his head enthusiastically before giving her another bow.

Grithur gave her a smile. “I am honored to be of service to the Queen!”

Taking the arm she was offered, Sigrid gave the armourer a bell-like laugh as she squeezed the bicep. Escort in tow, the two set off for the Royal Hall with Sigrid regaling the smith of Fian’s latest antics. Neither saw Balin’s look of concern as he watch Sigrid leave.

********************

Kili awoke with a full bladder thanks to the beer from the previous night. It would take more than what he had guzzled for him to have the big head and wool mouth of overconsumption. Sitting up with his blankets swaddled about him, Kili looked to see that the fire had gone out as dawn broke the eastern sky. Bain had risen already, rubbing down Isen’s legs as the horse grazed in the tall grass by the river.

“Have you eaten?” Kili yelled to the boy. Bain didn’t look in his direction as he methodically moved to the next leg checking the hoof before he started moving his hands down the pastern.

“I did. There was some flan with chunks of a lamb wrapped up.   It’s in a bag by the coals.”   He shouted over a shoulder.

“Have you looked at Warg yet?” Kili said with a snicker as he roused himself from his bed. There was a snort from the boy’s direction but Kili wasn’t entirely certain that it didn’t come from the big horse.

Untangling himself as he felt the pressure in his nether regions becoming unbearable, Kili hurried over to the rushes by the river to relieve himself. A long groaning exhale filled the air as his bladder emptied.

“Hey! You should do that downstream!” Bain scolded from Isen’s feet, his brown hair falling into his face.” I do not want to have Dwarf pee in my water!”

“It might bring you good luck,” Kili retorted as he fastened this trousers. ”Besides, it will dissipate in the water.”

“I refuse to take that risk.” The princeling snarked as he grabbed the water bags. He walked well past the tramped down spot that Kili had used, grumbling about where Kili could stick his luck.

Packing up the horses was a simple task, requiring little time. They had not dug too much out of the rucksacks the night before so they were finished in good speed. Bain covered his blue tunic with a muted olive cloak, no point in being too flashy in the forest. The feet of the bridge over the Celdurn was a modest affair with its stone supports and thick beams. It had been replaced by the Men of Dale two years ago after a nasty flood. Kili was sure the Mirkwood Elves would put something more ornate in its place given time. They had a deep love for curved flowing lines in their architecture.

Kili saw no point in mounting the horses now, they would just have to dismount once they arrived at the Mirkwood gate across the way. The Wilderland plains spread at their backs as they crossed the bridge to the tall trees before them. The wind coming from across the plain had a green smell that ruffled the horses’ manes as well as Kili’s black cloak. He looked back at the expansive distance for a moment as he stepped to the greenwood. The antlered entrance was there, it’s twin at the other end of the shady road, proclaiming to all travelers that you were entering the woodland realm of Thranduil.

There had been news that the spider nests had been removed from along the route, killed and their bodies burned. However, some could be still be found here and there near Dol Guldur but they were mostly young ones. Bain had said as they crossed the threshold to the road that Bard was in negotiations with Thranduil about widening the road and repaving it. So far, the Elves had not responded to King Bard’s offer to assist in Elvish affairs.

The road was still mostly a winding path, the trees having encroached so far that it was difficult for Bain and Isen. Kili had to hold a few branches for him so that he could pass, Warg and Daisy with their smaller size had no issues. The upper canopy was still as intertwined as Kili remembered, the limbs woven together blocked the sunlight to the forest floor. There was lush plants on the ground despite the darkness which would mean animal life. Kili had hopes of finding some rabbits on the other side, he would not dare kill an animal in Mirkwood.

They had been walking through the morning, stopping every once in a while to move a fallen limb or attend to a body function. The conversation had been slightly stilted to the single file travelling and shouting seemed to startle the few birds that could be seen in the trees as well as the horses. Isen was particularly sensitive to the loud noises, his head jerking at the reins with whites of his eyes showing. Kili pulled his cloak off to fasten it behind the saddle. Dwarves tended to run hotter than other races so he was libel to bake in the leather harberk as the afternoon progressed.

Here and there amongst the trees and bends were statues beside the path, vine covered or encased with black moss and pearlescent lichen. They were the silent sentinels of the forest, watching the glory their world fade away. Kili could also see crumbled rock piles that might have been ornate benches once upon a time but either the Giant Spiders or Thranduil’s disinterest had caused their demise. Seeing the waste of the Greenwood’s beauty first hand, filled Kili and Bain both with despair as well as anger.

“Why does he do nothing? This is his kingdom!” Bain’s derision coated his words, his voice going higher as his anger grew.

“Remember where you are, Bain. Mirkwood has more eyes and ears than Dale and much longer memories. You will be treating with this man one day!” While Kili privately agreed with everything Bain said, someone had to tell those watchful ears that Bain was young with a young Man’s fire.

“I don’t understand, Kili.” Bain kicked a rock off the path for Isen but it instead bounced into the brush to land at the feet of a tall dark haired Elf.

“The workings of our King are not the concern of a Man and a Dwarf.” The Elf moved out of the trees to stand on the path, never making a sound as he did. Kili gave a little sigh of relief, it wasn’t Prince Legolas Greenleaf.

His green and brown clothes were form fitting as well as his leather armor. The standard two swords were strapped to his back as well as a quiver of arrows, the bow, he handled lightly in his left hand. Brown hair mixed with red told of his Silvan heritage, more than his light step amongst the trees. Kili had seen Elven archers, deadly wasn’t the word that could accurately describe their lethal art. If this elf approached them, then he was most likely the leader of the band. Kili wasn’t fooled that there were not others in the trees, watching. Bain and Kili were on the path, not in the greenwood proper so they had a traveler’s protection of safe passage.

“Bain, son of King Bard of Dale, meant no offense. Only that the Elven artistry of the Greenwood has been hidden too long.” Kili paused to place his hand over his heart in greeting. ”Carpenters of Dale would certainly benefit from Elven instruction.”

At his words, Bain swung to stare at him in a fuming silence, as though Kili had looked upon Dale and found it lacking. As unpolished as he was in courtly matters, even Kili could understand the arrogance of Elves while Bain did not as yet. Stroking their pride would curry favor, might keep them out of a fight. Making sure that the Elves knew that Bain was a prince of Dale wouldn’t hurt either.

“I was unaware that Dwarves saw beauty in anything that wasn’t raped from the earth. Metal and rock so distorted by their forges until it was unrecognizable.” The Elf all but hissed at Kili, obviously unmoved by Kili’s unpracticed flattery. Kili’s hand twitched to grab a dagger and bury in the Elf’s throat.

“There was one who taught me to love the starlight. It’s precious purity. She showed me Elvish weapons.” Kili said as he slowly pulled Tauriel’s dagger from its back sheath, holding it up for the Elf to see. ”Made of steel are they not? And how do you think steel is forged, good Elf?”

The animosity ratcheted up another notch with the introduction of the dagger. Elf kind flowed out of the forest, their arrows notched towards Kili and Bain. The leader held up his hand to stay their fluid action, his eyes still on Kili. Bain gripped Isen’s reins firmly, speaking softly to steady the horse, since all the movement had him lashing out with his hind legs.

“You are Prince Kili of Erebor. The _Dwarf_ who brought low our former Captain.” There was an assessing look on the elf’s face even as he sneered the word, Dwarf, as if he were trying to understand why Tauriel would chose him over those she had of her kind.

“I would advise you caution, good Elf, if your words be about _A’maelamin_. I will tolerate no insult to her name!” Kili growled as he widened his stance, opening his right hand to go for a weapon at his side if the Elf made any movement.

Maybe it was Kili’s aggression at Tauriel’s defense or his use of Elvish that he had obviously learned from her that changed the mood. But change the mood it did. Most of the stiffness in the Elf’s shoulders eased though not completely. He made a complicated gesture which had the other guards lowering their bows, releasing some of the tension on the arrows.

”I am Elros of the Forest Guard.” He placed a hand over his heart before he bowed his head to Kili and to Bain. ”There has been much…. Speculation on her motives for leaving Mirkwood. Our King has banished her in absentia, so we do not speak her name. Though once she was _Mellonamin_. “

“A friend of my beloved has the protection of my axe.” Kili replied as he put away the knife to which Elros inclined his head once more.

It was an old saying amongst dwarves, to offer such to another. The protection of the axe was figurative in Kili’s case as his only axe was packed on Daisy’s back. Nevertheless, once accepted Kili was bound to it upon his honor. It relaxed the guard that Kili had put away the knife, though many still stared at the blade with questions in their eyes. There was a gale of relief that blew from Bain’s direction which caused Kili to steal a glance. Bain was now free to rub Isen’s neck, since he had no need to draw a weapon.

Kili was not inclined to trust this Elf, though he recognized him from his enforced visit in the Halls of the Woodland Realm. He remembered that Elros and Tauriel would talk often with others in his line of sight, so they might have been friends. The fact that he used the term “brought low our Captain” concerned Kili even more. He had known that Tauriel would never be able to go home to Mirkwood after she pledged herself to him, he just hadn’t realized until now what it meant to walk away from six hundred years of her life there.

“Come, there is a glade ahead that you might find ease.” Elros advised with a gesture ahead, two of his scouts immediately set off to check their path.

“My thanks, Elros. Prince Bain’s horse is young yet, but he has a good heart. He could use some space.” Kili said over his shoulder so that Bain might hear.

“Ah yes, I am honored to meet the son of Bard, King of Dale. We call the King Elf friend in Mirkwood.” Elros nodded to the young lad. ”Your horse is protective of his master, Prince Bain. We will remember that.”

“I thank you for your words, Elros of Mirkwood. If you will be generous and forgive me my hasty comments earlier, I will strive to make amends.” Bain bowed his head in apology to the Elf, though he never broke eye contact. He was learning.

“We shall see your metal in due time, young princeling of Dale.” Elros turned away to lead them down the path. Bain shrugged his shoulders at Kili, there would be humble pie in Bain’s future for his rashness.

Elros walked at a deliberate pace, restrained yet purposeful. A low bird whistle ahead him nodding, then sending another whistle in return. He wasn’t the tall sapling like many of his race but a head shorter than some he commanded. Theirs was a mostly silent passage, each keeping their counsel until a relaxed invitation allowed for them to be more free.  

A wide clearing broke the trees on both sides of the road as a gently rolling meadow butting at the edges of the bricks and stone. The benches were intact here, one next to a small stream that peeked here and there at the treeline. Kili tucked the lead rope about Daisy’s head so that she might graze as she liked. Warg, he tied to a low limb to keep him out of trouble but also that he might have a drink in the stream too. Bain pulled the bridle from Isen, allowing him more freedom but the bigger horse never went far.

“So where does your journey take you?” Elros asked quietly, courteously as they took seats upon a stone bench.

“Rivendell.” Kili answered simply for it was the truth. He tore a chunk of his bread handing the larger piece to Elros who bowed his head but refused.

“You go to see Lord Elrond?” Taking a sip of the water skin that passed around the group before handing it to Kili.

Kili nodded. “I have questions to which I believe he might have answers. His wisdom and kindness are much needed.”

He refused to remind Elros that Lord Elrond had treated them like guests while King Thranduil had locked them up in the cells of Mirkwood. Gandalf might have been the reason for one since he had been absent for the other. But that was past and Fili advised that Lord Elrond was much more amiable to Dwarves than his kin.

“The Lady of the Golden Wood is closer. Might you not go there?” The Elf seemed generally curious now, making Kili wonder just how much to tell him.

“I am not familiar with her august person.” Kili told the Elf with a smile. “Lord Elrond I have met on another occasion.”

The Elf looked up through the trees to the sky above to the clouds chasing each other. He stared for a moment more as Kili tried to continue eating his bread but looked askance to the guard in their positions. The situation was giving him a funny feeling.

“I find this to be an interesting situation, Prince Kili of Erebor.” The Elf said finally. “You would take the Forest road through the Greenwood when your name is anathema to us for the banishment of one of our number rather than going around to avoid us. That indicates you are in haste.”

Kili stopped chewing, his whole body still. Bain to his left heard the conversation but pushed himself to continue his inspection of a branch.

“The Elleth in question is not with you now. If she was, there are faster paths to take than this one for she could show you. Why seek you an Elf if you have one living with you?” His calm countenance left little doubt that there was a question in his words but whether Kili was invited to answer was beyond him.

“My Elleth is far away, so far away from me. I need to find Meleth Nin.” Taking a chance, Kili spilled his heart’s desire to the Elf to his right, only to be met with shock. Elros looked at him with an expression of horror.

When he found himself, the Elf spoke but with angry gritted teeth. “You seek your love? You have lost her? Is she a boot of a sort that can be misplaced?!”

The forest guard who had taken a step back out of respect, shifted forward with a sinuous grace with hands visibly on their knives. Bain stood quickly but Kili tossed out his hand to stay him.

“It was before the Great Battle. I seek her for she is the only one I shall love.” Kili’s patience was beginning to wane in the face of this busy body Elf with a higher opinion than was necessary.

Elros stood with his back to Kili, shouting orders the guard. The men and women stepped away, blending into the trees from wince they came. “You seek a tomb, Prince. She would have faded by now.”

The Elf glared at him as Kili’s mouth flapped open. “What are you saying? What is this fading?”

“Elves love but once in our lives, that is why a pairing with a mortal is discouraged. When our love dies, we fade or mourn ourselves to death. If you have been without her for so long, she would have died from the loneliness of being apart.” Elros took his bow to sling back across his shoulders. “I will led you to the end of the road but then we are done.”

Before anything else was said, the elf turned and began walking the Old Forest road as Kili’s world crashed around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really want to thank all who have read, commented and left Kudos on this work.. It means a lot and keeps it going.
> 
> Grithir is a dwarf from the Dwarves in Adaptations. I think he was a light armorsmith but I bumped him up a little. And Sigrid is getting wozzy...I considered using Legolas to meet Kili on the road but thought the exchange would be to volatile between them. Legolas might pop up later.. working on that possibility..
> 
> I am sure that it would take longer for them to get down the forest road but I wanted to move the story along a bit.... 
> 
> Thanks so much for sticking with my humble effort!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember the night  
> The night you said, "I love you", remember?  
> Remember you vowed  
> By all the stars above you, remember?
> 
> ~ Billie Holiday - Remember ~

The Elves escorted them the rest of the way from the Greenwood proper but refused to engage in further conversation with the princes despite Bain’s questions. Kili acknowledged their assistance though some still stared at him as if he were a hairy toadstool or something foul underfoot. There had been no fondness in the parting of the ways or need for any as their hosts receded quietly back to the tree line. Elros watched him silently as the host took their position one more in the Greenwood before turning away without a by your leave or farewell. Their actions spoke of loathing for his kind but Kili could see they now had a face to accompany their hate. _His_.

Elros’ words tumbled in his mind over and over without rest as they mounted once more with Carrock before them. Could she have wasted away in loneliness at being apart from him? They had pledged the one to the other, while forbidden for neither had asked leave of their Kings. But it was as real then as it was now. His love for Tauriel was undimmed in all these years in the face of her overwhelming silence. Secretly in the depths of his heart, Kili had wanted to believe that she waited to return to him, loving him from afar. But what if she were dead, either by the Morgul poison or a broken heart?

Dusk settled her long orange and purple skirts upon the sky as they made their way across the Anduin at a shallow spot. The trip through the Greenwood had taken the full day as Kili had hoped but now they were clear of it. Bain took the time to fill their water skins and snatch a few fish that swam against the swift current, as Kili continued to brood over his questions. The snowcapped peaks drew near as the horses stretched their legs in an invigorating run as they turned south. Though Warg showed his bad manners once more when he tried to expel his waste on Isen when they slowed for a breather. The insolent donkey backed into the bigger animal rump first on two different times.

They settled for the night, wanting to be fresh and use as much daylight to get into the mountains as they could. Taking the High Pass was a gamble but Kili was willing to try as it would get them to Rivendell that much faster. Fear ate at him, even more now with Elros’ news swirling in his mind. With most of the Orcs in the mountains wiped out after the Great Battle, Goblin Town would not be such a threat. Kili remembered the cave where the Goblins had used as a trap due to the high infused mica rocks. There had been a deep noticeable vein running in a wave along the outside face.

“You are still thinking of what the Elf said, that Tauriel might be dead?” Bain asked him after he had settled his horse.

“Yes. I don’t want to think it could be so.” Kili packed some pipeweed into his pipe, not looking at his companion. “She had to know I would come, that I could not let her go. The poison is what worries me. She healed me of the effects, but could she have helped herself? Would Legolas have helped her?”

“Hmmm… My father does not speak of the prince, only of Thranduil. It is curious that not much is said of him now.” Bain looked at the horses once more as he sat down across the way. “Tauriel is strong. I remember her when she healed you and after. I think she would have known you wouldn’t stay away.”

“Yet, I did. For five years. For family and country, I put them before my love. Never again.” Kili huffed a sigh before he drew on his pipe, trying to let the self-loathing go.

“Tell me what it means to love someone?” Bain asked from as he lay on his pallet.

“I think you have a few years yet before that becomes an issue.” Kili told him as the Dwarf smoked his pipe, staring at the flames with disjointed thoughts.

“My sister was my age when she met the King.” Bain would not be dissuaded. “I am sitting here at the feet of Carrock because of the love you bear a lady. I want to know and understand.”

“I don’t know how it is when Men but Dwarves love only once. We Dwarves hold on to our love with the same stubbornness as we do our gold.” Kili took the stem from his mouth to smile. “We use the term ‘My Treasure’ for not only our gold but for our One, for that is what they are. A mighty gift.”

Kili watched a play of emotions across the young lad’s face but confusion had settled there. He seemed to be in deep concentration, trying to puzzle out something that made no sense to him.

“What troubles you, laddie?” Kili asked for he genuinely wanted to know. Since the conversation with the Wood Elves, Bain had been fidgety.

“This business of having a One. It means that person is the only one the Dwarf will love?” Bain sat up now as Isen nickered across the way. The horse had a very good instinct when it came to his master’s moods.

“Yes.” Confused that he would ask such a question, Kili watched the lad try to work this out. “Tell me what you are thinking.”

Bain looked at him now, anger and confusion on his face. “There are rumors in Dale that Fili intends to set Sigrid aside to be his consort so that he could take a Dwarf woman as his Queen.”

Kili could no more be shocked than if the moon fell from the sky and cracked like an egg. “No! That will not happen!”

“I tell you, this is what I have heard. Fili may love..” Bain’s voice rose as his anger grew.

“ _May_?” Kili sputtered incredulously. ”Fili does love her! I have seen how they look at each other, she is his One!”

“But would he set her aside? Could it be because she is not liked?” Bain persisted, needing Kili to convince him that his fears for his sister were unfounded.

“I don’t know who is spreading these lies, Bain. I will leave that to others to find the root of it.” Kili stared at the boy so that he could see that Kili spoke the truth. “There have been cases of a King setting aside a wife. My own ancestor married out of expectation only to find his One at a trade trip to Khazad Dum. He had a wife but brought his One home to be a consort. Dori, Nori, and Ori are their descendants.”

Bain looked skeptical so Kili continued. “If he didn’t already love her, if they didn’t have children because she was barren or some such talk, I would say that it was a possibility. But they have two handsome boys and my brother loves your sister more than his treasure hoard.”

His joke pulled a laugh from the young man at last but it made Kili worry. If rumors were circulating in Dale that Sigrid would be replaced, what would that do for Bard’s state of mind? The agreements reached between Erebor and Dale had not been contingent on Fili’s marriage, they would have been completed whether marriage had happened or not. It was happenstance that the King of Erebor fell in love with the King of Dale’s eldest daughter, apparently after popping out of her toilet. Kili had not witnessed his brother’s courting, that had been left to his mother and Balin. But in the years of their union, Kili couldn’t recall two people more in love.

He could feel a headache beginning behind his eyes when he remembered that Dwalin was probably even now travelling to the Iron Hill’s for a Dwarrowdam to bring back to Erebor. His mother had said nothing as they had packed his things for his quest and she would know of such political machinations. Was the ‘dam to be Fili’s new bride because Kili had not considered the implications of what his shooting Zigal would do? He had only thought of maiming the ambassador who would draw iron against his brother but had he ruined his brother’s life with that arrow?

Bain turned away from the fire, pulling his cloak up his shoulders. There had been no lie in Bain’s eyes when he spoke of what rumors spread like a wasting sickness.  If the young man had heard these circulating tales, Bard would have as well. The new King of Dale would have his own spies the same as would Fili for trying to keep a finger on the unseen pulse of his people. The criminal element, the malcontent would forever attempt to draw the peace and harmony into chaos for no other purpose than because they could.

An odd chirping noise sounded to the left of the small stream where they had made camp. Isen’s head jerked in response when Warg bumped into him again, startled by the sound. Kili sighed, gaining his feet to walk to the three horses as they tossed their heads. The ropes pulled taught by the time he walked to them, running a hand down Warg’s and Daisy’s flank to calm them. Isen sent him a snorting glare for not keeping Warg under control.

Untying the disagreeable mount, he led the snipping beast to another spot further away from whatever trouble he could cause. The black and white pony lipped his tunic in an affectionate way, for once there were no teeth. Kili scratched him between the ears, causing the animal to rub his black head against him with a sigh. Warg had his moments but not many.

A small creature darted from the river brush, trying to scamper away. Warg, startled, jerked away a few steps as Kili slammed his blade he had palmed into the animal’s spine. A little whine filled the air as a small bunny died at his feet. He yanked his knife free, grabbing the ears as he did so to host it into the light. It was a small white and gray not one of Radagast’s Rhosgobel browns.

The Wizard had a special fondness for the little creatures, more so than the other animals under his care. Radagast had used the swift rabbits to pull his sled in efforts to help save the company from an Orc pack once on their journey. Kili’s relief was profound that he had not harmed, even on reflex, a gentle soul that might have saved his. Sentiment aside, this little one would be breakfast in the morning. They might be in the lee of the great wood but the creatures here were fair game.

Securing the stubborn pony to a tree by the stream was a juggle. The pony was in a mood now and didn’t want to be touched. Kili could have sworn he heard Isen snicker as he chewed nearby. Disagreeable mule, he thought as he began to dress the rabbit. Spitting it by the fire in the morning would be tasty, so Kili hung it from a branch to keep it out of reach of the wildlife. He returned to his pallet to clean his knife, tired at last for a good night’s sleep.

Staring at the elven blade by the firelight, Kili remembered finding it by accident under the bed he and Tauriel had shared in the Upper Hall. They had only spent a few days in there, but to Kili it had been a lifetime. The memory of her lying in the bed with him, the long length of her burning hair felt like spider silk in his fingers as he taught her how to weave the betrothal braids in the strands. Kili refused convention, skipping over the courting entirely as their nights in Bard’s cellar was practically a wedding in his culture and hers. The familiar ache unfurled its spiked wings in his chest as he remembered Tauriel pledging her heart to him once more that she would love only him. Him and no other forever.

Months later after the Great Battle, Kili had laboriously hiked his way through Erebor to that room, still not completely healed but unable to stay abed any longer. Determination had lit a fire in him hotter than any forge to remind himself that it had not all that had occurred between them was a dream. The last league had felt the longest, his ankles in constant blistering pain. He had known his Amad and Oin would have his head once they knew of what he had done but Kili had to go.

It had been easier to find the room now than it had been then. He had wanted Tauriel to have a window so that she could see her white starlight and perhaps not feel so enclosed by the walls of Erebor. As he pushed the door open, Kili’s moan of regret echoed in the wide space. Everything had been changed in the room apparently on Dis’ orders, linens removed and laundered. No trace of their time could be seen, nor were her things here either. It was clean and ready for use by the next Dwarf who arrived to pay homage to the new King under the Mountain. It was then that Kili understood that Tauriel was gone from his life, the knowledge hitting him like a warhammer.

Falling to the floor, he had cried great sobbing tears like he had not since his stripling years. His heart was breaking all over again due of her absence, the broken shards cutting away the softness of his soul. He must have shoved his wooden canes away during his wrath because one was under the bed. The intricately carved axe head was just peeking out where the bottom of the coverlet brushed the floor. Kili grabbed at the cane but it stuck something, a faint hollow sound resonated from under the bed though muffled by the bedding. Using the cane’s length, he had pushed the dusty knife from where it must have been kicked back into the corner. How it had been missed, Kili could not know.

Five years had passed but the misery took root, growing into a malignant tree in the absence of his heart. His mother called it grief while the Elves said it was fading. The meaning was the same no matter what word was used, an intense yearning for something lost. His Amad and Nadad both told him that he wasn’t the same now after having lost Tauriel, as if he had a choice in the losing. Dis would understand, having lost her own love when their father had been killed. Perhaps that was why she had urged him to go, so that he would not have the same feelings of emptiness if there was a chance to be reunited.

Many a Dwarrow had different feelings about their One. Some actively searched for a Dwarrowdam to complete them while others turned to their crafts for fulfillment. But those Dwarrows who said it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all were the worst liars. Losing your love was a harsh horrible sentence, living everyday amazed that your body is alive while your heart is dead. Rolling onto his back to stare at the night sky, he wished on every star for his One, his heart to come back to him.

***********

Dis moved around the chamber with familiarity. Balin and she had been friends for many years, always in the other’s confidences. Two people that had lost their loves had found a deep friendship in their later years, bonding over the Heirs of Durin and the empire in its infancy. Balin had lost his wife at the fall of Erebor, she had not made it out alive once the doors had sealed. Dis had found her love in the arms of a Stiffbeard from Thulin’s Folk. He had been killed defending a caravan from scavengers. Vali had passed his golden hair to Fili, causing Dis to catch her breath if her son stood in a certain light.

“Is Dwalin away?” Dis asked quietly as she looked at the rolls of parchment that Balin handed her.

“He is, this morning in fact.” The old Dwarrow huffed a sigh of resignation as he scratched his jawline before indicating the papers. “The estimates for the coming year. The ewes are producing better than expected since we are introducing the crossbred sent by Bilbo from the Shire.”

“I despair that I had not the opportunity to meet the Hobbit. Has the King seen these?” She inquired though she knew the answer even before the royal advisor began nodding.

It was hard being the King’s mother now when she had been a metalworker in Ered Luin. Her simple life in the west had been replaced with intrigues and royal protocol layered in deceit. Dis worked with Balin behind the scenes to make sure that life went on as it should here. But each day, she found her love for their homeland turning into something bitter. Fili was her son, her first born. It was her duty to protect him from everything that could hurt him or his family. The old pettiness that she had thought long dead in the Blue Mountains was circulating through the Erebor’s Royal Court.

Dis found she liked Sigrid, a young girl who was learning her court etiquette beside her son. When Balin told her years ago of his suspicions that Fili had a tendre for the young newly styled Princess of Dale, Dis had been so very happy. It was a chance to bury the enmity that had existed much longer than it should against Men. But alas, it was not to be. So now, another path would need to be walked.

“Who did Dwalin take with him?” There had been discussions on this subject, again and again.

“Five of which Nori and Bifur are apart. Dori has a cold and will not be able to travel, so another guardsman was chosen.” Balin took a drink of ale as he pulled his thick robe closer. “My lady, we need to talk about Moria.”

“Not yet. Things are too unsettled here. Certain countermeasures have to be in place before you leave us.” Dis cast a sympathetic look at her friend. “I know it weighs on you, old friend but patience is necessary. We have started on this path, we must see it through. Does Nori understand what is expected?”

“He does, laughed out loud at the idea.” Balin smiled for the first time since she had walked into his rooms. “But what if this doesn’t work as we hope?”

“Then my son, the King under the Mountain is going to be livid at his mother.” Dis smiled at him as she walked from the rooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must apologize readers. A family emergency turned into a family disaster, that ripples still. So there has very little writing time. I am going to be working very hard to get back on schedule but the updates will be sporadic until then. I am determined to get my stories finished as I have come to love them dearly.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting on my humble efforts.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I see trees of green, red roses, too,  
> I see them bloom, for me and you  
> And I think to myself  
> What a wonderful world
> 
> ~ Louis Armstrong - What a Wonderful World ~

Sigrid couldn’t say what had awoken her. Being so deep in the hard earth of the mountain, noise traveled differently and to a different purpose. Whatever it had been, Sigrid found herself sitting upright in the bed, staring around the chamber. Her sleepy eyes scanned the darkened corners for a sign of why she no longer found peace next to her husband.

“S’ wrong?” Fili’s words were as slurred as his brain as he rolled onto his back.

Sigrid leaned over to cup his cheek. “Nothing, love. Go back to sleep.”

Fili had been particularly vigorous last night, leaving her breathless and spent afterwards. She had just enough energy to snuggle against him in a warm embrace as sleep dragged her down in the abyss. Now, Sigrid was wide awake with no real idea why. Drawing her dark blue nursing gown with this deep V neck, she tied the front closed to check on her sons.

The fires were banked, their embers casting enough light for her to find her way to the nursery. Pushing the door open, flames in the wall sconces were low but Sigrid could see the children safe in their beds. Fian was turned away on his trundle bed and little Vian wiggled in his sleep. Chasing puppies, she thought with a smile as she neared his crib. Tucking the thick lamb’s wool blanket about his sturdy body, she bend to kiss head only to pull back with jerk.

Stomach heaving, Sigrid ran from the nursery, heading for the bath chamber and the garderobe. She just managed to push the lid up to see the slow stream of water flowing below when last night’s dinner of stuffed beef passed her lips. A few more heaves of the unsettled stomach brought a round of coughing as she tried to clear a passage for breath.

“Sigrid love?” Fili’s voice behind made her straighten but the sudden movement brought her to her knees as a dizzy spell overtook her.

Fili was there, catching his wife before she fell completely to the floor.

********

The sun still hid behind the treeline as Bain pushed away his cloak. Two days of travel past and he was beginning to miss Dale or at least his soft bed. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he wondered at how his life had changed so drastically in the last five years. He sometimes felt it was hard to keep upright and not topple to the ground at some of the new twists and turns. His father, Bard, had been a good man before the town’s destruction, working on the lake from dawn until dusk. But as King of the newly restored Dale, the tempered metal of his personality shown bright again and again through just decisions and wiser actions. Proud was Bain to be the son of Bard the Bowman, nevermind if he was a King too.

Bain shook out his blankets before rolling them into a tight bundle like Dwalin had taught him. The Dwarf had taken him in to teach the young prince mace and sword at the King’s request but not without some grumbling. It was clear from the beginning that Dwalin had no real love for the younger Man, related to the King or not. But he didn’t shirk nor was he cruel, just very very thorough. Nori had imparted the most knowledge out of the two, with quick knives and slight of hand. Dirty fighting, Dwalin called it one day as he watched. No honor in killing your enemy slow with a thousand cuts. Nori had humped at the tattooed Dwarrow, telling the young prince later that he was concerned about being alive at the end of the day not his make believe honor.

The morning dew was frost instead, a clear sign that summer was being chased away by the colder days and nights of autumn. He looked to the blood red chestnut still staked at the stream. Isen was more than a mount but a boon companion. He was stoic and true yesterday when they had run into the elves in the forest, lashing out with dangerous hooves if they were drew too near. Bain gave a whistle to the horses as he walked to them, letting them know they were not alone.

The pack pony that Kili had called Daisy moved to the side to keep him in sight as he drew abreast. Her white ears flicked back and forth as he murmured low to the sweet mare with a pat to the neck. Isen snorted and nickered at him, obviously jealous at not being the first for Bain’s affections. The large horse bumped him in the side as he tried to lip his pockets looking for a treat.

Kili’s nasty pony was tied further away than he had been last night. Warg must have done something to cause his owner to move him after Bain had gone to sleep. The monstrous piebald had taken an instant dislike to Isen, antagonizing and provoking at every turn. Even now, the atrocious cow was actively chewing his tie rope in a hilarious escape attempt. Bain wasn’t sure that the thick pony wasn’t plotting their demise.

Bain wasn’t certain of Daisy enough to let her roam for herself, so he looped her lead road around Isen’s neck. Isen would return if called, dragging the pony with him if need be. The red stallion hated to be too far from him at any road. Walking back to the camp for the horse brush and hoof pick, Bain noticed the low hanging rabbit, dressed for cooking. Grabbing a good stick, Bain spitted the animal close enough to the fire to cook as he added a few more logs.

Kili slept on this morning, though Bain was unsure of when he actually fell asleep. The condescending Elves with their crumbling wood and frozen attitudes had not been kind to the Dwarf. It was little wonder that the once happy Kili became so angry. He had been dealt a harsh blow, more so now that Bain understood the reasoning behind the Dwarfish attitude towards love. But it didn’t solve the problems of the rumors circulating in Dale about his sister and brother by marriage. If a Dwarf loved so desperately, how could the greed that they were known for so famously let their women go?

It was pity that the young Man felt for his sleeping companion, that was why Bain had come. A debt was owed in his mind to the Dwarves who had saved them after the town had burned in Dragon fire. The brothers and their companions refused to leave until Bard Bowman was reunited with his children. Whatever had happened at the Gates with the mad Dwarf King, Bain could not know. He only knew that those four had helped them get out of the flames that scorched so many lives to ash.

The questions of what had happened to the red haired Elf maid who had protected them from Orcs made him wonder as well. Tauriel had burst into their home with sharp daggers in hand along with the Blonde male, cutting down the filth that tried to kill them all. That she had consented to heal a Dwarf, an enemy to her race, only spoke of her compassion. Such a healing had been a sight to behold.   Bain remembered the Dwarf prince sleeping away the morning then too. Tauriel had sweetly patiently taught his sisters a few words in Sindarin the day after Kili’s healing due to the drain on her life. She had been nothing like the aloof creatures that now roamed the Greenwood, but kind as well as caring.

The quiet touches and shy smiles she and Kili had exchanged when others did not see spoke of affection, but love? While he had been much younger then, Bain could remember the blushes from both of them the last morning before Smaug. Now years later, he wondered if the reddened cheeks had a different meaning. For Kili to risk so much, to travel the length of Arda for her testified his commitment to his love for her. Fissures were showing in the hard shell that Kili had built around himself, making him seem more open than he had been in years. The Dwarf had made a point to argue with him last night over Sigrid and Fili’s relationship, something he wouldn’t have done maybe a year ago or even six months previously. Bain feared that if the Elves were correct and Tauriel was dead for truth it would cause Kili to run mad, losing himself in his anger but this time for good.

Elves, Bain thought discourteously. His father had a relationship with King Thranduil, it was true. They had known each other when Bard had been a poor bargeman but that only served to put the King of Dale on a lesser footing in the pale blue eyes of the immortal sovereign. The necklace, an heirloom of their family, had gone to the grasper Elf in an attempt to secure their aid against Thorin as well as the defense against the coming Orcs. The emeralds were not a substitute to the White Gems of Lasgalen but Thranduil had not turned them away.

The Battle of the Five Armies had sent Bain and his sisters into hiding with the other survivors from the burnout Laketown. The Elvish army had marched in full view of their refugee camp, never stopping as they went to join the Men to lay siege at the Gates of Erebor. Never offering a hand. The cold arrogance of their race scalded him that harsh morning so that he would truly never forget their quality. Later, a contingent of Elven healers come to them, bringing food and water as well as healing herbs. Healer Wila Wheat had organized them to the critically burned and sick that still lived. Her expression though once their backs had turned was very sour. Yes, Bain might have to deal with the Woodland Silvans one day though it will be with as little contact as possible. His beginnings in Esgoroth might have been poor but it would serve him to never take for granted what he had now nor underestimate others.

A message had arrived from Tilda in Gondor last week, happy as a pig in slop. She wrote how Elves were revered in Gondor, their culture emulated in every degree. Numenorean blood though mostly spent in that Kingdom was prized and its level calculated before a marriage contract was signed. That Tilda lived so close to the Greenwood and knew Elves by name placed her in the first circle squarely among her confederates at school. Bain was happy that she studied to be healer there though it wasn’t the same in Dale without her rambunctious ideas. He often wondered just how changed his little sister would be once she returned.

Taking a small sack of grain from one of the packs, the young prince decided to give a few handfuls of it to Daisy as well. She nickered as he walked back, extending her raised head in curiosity. Stuffing the brush and pick in a side pocket of his tunic, Bain handed a handful to Isen first then to the pony. Isen approved of this as he blew his nostrils at Daisy as she licked the feed from his master’s hand. He took the head stall of the large stallion to lead them back to the water’s edge. Tying them separately to a limb, Bain pulled out the brush to begin giving Isen a good cleaning when Warg’s high pitched scream split the stillness of the morning.

The piebald rammed into Isen’s hindquarters at a lope, spinning the chestnut to the side. The stout monstrosity had too much momentum to stop immediately, but circled tightly to come back for another pass. Bain yelled very interesting obscenities as he grabbed a stick to chase the ill-mannered beast away from the staked red chestnut. The contrary animal braked sharply but leaped away from the waiving stick to kick his feet up in the air in Bain’s direction. No contact was made but the idea of putting a crossbow bolt in the pony’s neck was gaining appeal.

Kili jumped to his feet by the fire, grabbing his knives quickly as if they were under attack.  It wasn’t enough that life prevented him from finding his rest, now the vicious pony was preventing it too. He stalked across the meadow as the angry pony charged at Bain with single minded determination. Bain waived his arms and the stick once more as the pony veered off at the last instance but threw up his legs as he passed trying to get a hoof at either Man or horse.

“Warg!” Kili called as pony passed him at a trot. The disagreeable fiend tossed his head with a high neigh of challenge as he circled back to his master.

“I tied you up last night, you insufferable nag!” The Dwarf snatched what was left of the rope that the pony had chewed to get free. “Ok! That’s it! When we get back to Erebor, the testicles are coming off! I will cut you myself and laugh when they cauterize you!”

Bain was so out of sorts for the rest of the morning, Kili offered to care of Isen by way of an apology. The boy and his mount eerily bared their teeth at him. It was enough that he made the gesture but Isen was so unsettled too that it took longer than normal to get him quiet once more. Kili could never reach the top of his back anyway so why the bother.

Daisy who had become the unofficial buffer, didn’t want much to do with Warg either as he called challenge after challenge at Isen. Kili ended up giving the pony’s ear a tug to get him to settle down and stand for his brushing. Bain kept trying to think of a way to get rid of the evil mount when a voice called from the other side of the stream.

“He has not changed.”

Bain looked up as Isen went very still and tense. Whatever was on the wind, blowing from the new arrival had Isen moving closer to the squatting young Man as he continued to rub the horse’s legs. Red ears flicked forward, Isen pawed the earth as he blew out his nostrils.

“No, he hasn’t. I am not sure if I didn’t get the worse end of the deal, Grimbeorn.” Kili walked away from the struggling pony to the water’s edge where a tall man stood with three others of shorter stature who waited behind him.

Grimbeorn, the skinchanger. Bain had heard stories of his father’s valor in battle, killing many Orcs and Trolls before the end. A great bear roaring across the battlefield would have scared the piss out the Enemy not the mention the allies! The Beornlings who followed him into battle helped him back to Carrock where word spread that he had died of his lingering wounds. His son, Grimbeorn, lead the Beornlings now. He took great responsibility in keeping the passes to Rivendell open for the travelers.

“I did not think he could get worse but yes, he has.” His long hair wavered in the breeze as Grimbeorn looked to Isen now. The red stallion quivered under his sight. “I hope your horse is well?”

“He is. Thank you for the inquiry.” Bain nodded to the man in greeting. “I am Bain, son of Bard of Dale.”

“I remember your father, young prince.” It was all he said as he turned once more to Kili. “Where are you bound this time? Orcs again?”

Kili shook his head. “Rivendell.”

“Hmmm…. You will need help through the High Pass.” Grimbeorn rubbed his face as he watched Kili’s expression. “Volund and Egil will assist your travel.”

Kili nodded his thanks as Bain watched. “What would you have for a toll?”

“No toll, young Dwarf. You pay a heavy price already.” Grimbeorn pointed with a smile to the Piebald as he tossed his head repeatedly to get free. Kili and Bain both sighed at the animal’s antics.

“Give us an hour. Then we will meet you.” Kili turned back to the pony as Bain finished with Isen.

It would be a long journey to Rivendell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they are off to the races ! This was more of a filler chapter for Kili so I put it from Bain's point of view. You see rather why he had such dislike for the Elves in the forest, he remembers them marching to Erebor. I still haven't see BOTFA but I don't think I would finish my stories if I did, so I am waiting until it comes out of Blu Ray  
> Plus Warg the Pony is probably going to be my comic relief in a way since he has taken such a dislike to Isen. 
> 
> I do want to thank everyone for their comments after my last post! I means so much !
> 
> The Dale Healer Wila Wheat was inspired by a non canan character from T/G called Will Wheatley. She is going to be in the story as it progresses. The Beornlings Volund and Egil were taken from the Norse Hrolfr Kraki. Egil was a berserker while Volund was a blacksmith.
> 
> Next two chapters are going to be Sigridccentric due her fallout.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.
> 
> ~W. Shakespeare - Twelfth Night~

 

It was early afternoon before Oin and his assistants arrived to the King’s chambers. The healer took stock immediately of the situation, tasking his Striplings to the fire and supplies set up in the anteroom. Fili had fair worn ruts in the stone floor, so worried and concerned as he looked anxiously on from the bedside. Dis had taken the boys with her in the morning, distracting them from their mother so they could not see that she wasn’t simply asleep. Fili had tried to be calm in the interim, tried to breathe past the fear that gnawed at him. Losing his head wouldn’t change the fact that Sigrid had seemed to have fainted dead away but wasn’t waking again.

When Oin walked into the bedchamber, he took one look at the King before pushing him from the room to bar the King from the Royal suite. Fili had stumbled into the outer hall only to turn screaming at the healer who barred him from his wife, kicking the heavy door repeatedly before sliding to the floor with an angry grunt. The King silently cursed the heavy banded oak doors that had meant protection, now prevented him from strangling his old friend and healer. He didn’t have long to wait when the door opened for Oin and a young Dwarf who sped off down the corridor as if his feet had wings.

Putting his horn into his ear, the aged healer asked. “Thanu Men, do you not have governing to do?”

“What’s wrong with my wife?” Fili ground out at the older man before him. “What is going on?”

“I have sent for a healer from Dale who knows better their women than I. She is awake now but tired. However, congratulations are in order, it seems the Queen is yet with child again!” Oin told him with a smile as he stood straight before the king, pulling down his pocketed tunic.

Fili was so surprised, he knew not what to say. His bushy eyebrows bumped into his gold circlet as Oin laughed at him and began slapping a knee. Sigrid had not mentioned the possibility of another baby! Both turned as three dwarves hurried and jostled themselves down the Royal Hall. Bombur, Bofur and Balin looked at their King on the floor, trying and failing to hide their grins in their beards.

“We heard that the King was on his ass from yon stripling but we thought it was upon Dain that he was seated.” Bofur joked merrily as they drew abreast the King still stunned by the news.

“The Athane is bearing again, good Dwarrows!” Oin almost yelled at the companions a round of backslapping commenced once they got Fili on his feet. “Why not take him for a tankard or two in celebration!”

“Well that explains her spell the other day.” Balin said with a smile. Oin and Fili both looked at him suddenly. “Yesterday morning. Did she not mention this?”

Balin tugged at his beard in consideration, smoothing down his robes as he mustered a smile. It was a fake smile that Fili had seen him use for difficult negotiations or people like his cousin, Dain. Dwalin, well, Balin had a different look for his difficult brother all together.

Fili shook his head as he barely managed to prevent attacking his counselor for the news. “What happened?”

“A Dwarrow brought me something and when she stood, the Queen seemed to become disoriented. She said that she had not eaten much.” Balin looked from the perplexed Fili to the grim Oin.

“Women’s afflictions! Come, Thanu Men! King Fili of Mighty Seed!” Bofur and Bombur chorused a rousing song of swimming with little hairy women as they lead a struggling Fili away. He kept throwing concerned looks over his shoulder the entire length of the hall.

“Is the Queen ill, Oin?” Balin asked quietly once the merry trio was out of sight.

“I do not know yet though I am concerned, Balin. She has awakened but is drawn a bit. A healer has been summoned from Dale. I will know more later today.” Oin walked back into the room to wait for the arrival of the healer from Dale as Balin went help the Dwarrows celebrate.

******************

The healer Wila Wheat swept into the dark room like a bright hurricane from over the mountains. Each and every colorful gust of motion was an unexpected pleasure as her blazing smile put all in the room at ease. Oin had met her on occasion when he had been in Dale, usually in the markets looking at herbs. Sometimes, he watched her at a distance not intruding on her vivacious squall of a personality as she breezed from one display to the next. In certain lights, Oin thought he noticed a fine golden dusting at the edge of her jaw, nearly the same color as the curled blond and gray strains upon her head. While he could never have the right to ask so personal a question, he often considered there might be Dwarf blood in her lineage. Though her height almost belied that possibility.

Today, she was arrayed in shades of orange mixed with gold. So colorful that it brought a happy smile to his face against his will as she divested herself of her pack. Mistress Wheat had brought no assistants with her to Erebor but Oin wasn’t sure she had one. Sigrid grinned at the sight of her as well, struggling to rise from the bed so that they could converse more distinctly. The healer would have none of it, of course, pushing the young Queen back to her pillows as she herself rubbed the young girl’s hands.

“Master Oin, how fares you this day?” She asked as she studied the Queen’s fingernails.

Oin waived off the healer’s Dwarven escort as he closed the chamber door. “Quite well, Mistress healer. Worried about our Queen.”

Sparkling brown eyes met his as she turned to look at him. “Master Oin, you have given me freedom to address you with familiarity. Why will you not call me Wila?”

Oin gruffed and snuffled about as the woman gave him a radiant smile. It was not proper for him to address her as such unless they had been courting a while and she wore his beads. Were she a ‘dam, her family would demand punishment unless it he had been granted leave to be so forward. Oin enjoyed her vivacious spirit but there were more than the obvious differences in their cultures when the females could be so forthright. Even if he might secretly appreciate the woman’s blunt nature.

“Wila, you put him on the spot.” Sigrid advised her with a tired laugh. “Master Oin is an excellent Dwarrow who works very hard here.”

“I have no doubt, good Queen. Often I see him in the markets yet he has not time to spare for a simple hello.” Both women looked at his reddened face now with hilarity that he had been caught. Healer Wheat’s smile never diminished.

“It is respect, good mistress. I do not wish to intrude upon you if patients take precedent.” It sounded as good an excuse as any to Oin’s ears though the other women continue to smirk at him.

“Good Master Oin, we can discuss that at another time.” She put a pair of spectacles upon her nose though he caught the twinkle in her eye still. “You may wish to adjourn to the outer room. There are a few delicate questions I must ask the Queen. “

“Master Oin may stay. It may be better if he knows all and doesn’t guess later.” Sigrid advised as she laid a pale hand on the healer’s. “I trust him with my life and that of my children.”

Oin flushed in pleasure to be so complimented by the young woman. He had no real memory of the last Queen under the Mountain, as he had not been a Dwarrow of that political circle like his younger brother and mother. Later, the exiled rootless Dwarves had no need of a court once they escaped the desolation of Smaug, at least not until they had firmly settled in the Blue Mountains. It was a new situation for him to be so regaled by royalty one that he found that he liked. Athane Sigrid with open blue eyes and guileless smile, was in sincere earnest. Her feelings were completely free, unhidden from them nor held in reserve. Oin tried to remember that she was still young even by the standards of Men though she had taken their King as husband.

“Well, since the good master is staying.” Wila removed herself to fetch her bag and hand the water pitcher to Oin. “I will need fresh water, please.”

“What do you mean to do to my Queen?” Oin’s fear gave his voice a gruffer edge once more and the smallest bite to the words. His grip tightened on his ear horn as he looked to the pale woman in bed.

“I want to help her keep her child and her life.” There was steel in the healer’s rejoinder that made him smile inwardly. Yes, she might have some Dwarf blood after all.

Oin nodded his head as the healer Wheat turned back to Sigrid. He walked to the bedroom chamber door, handing the pitcher to an assistant with instructions before returning to the bedside. Wila’s large hands had pulled back the quilts to the end of the bed, exposing the Sigrid’s pale limbs. Why she would need to expose the Queen in such a manner merely to inspect the young woman’s belly baffled Oin. Hastening back to the door, the Dwarf medic issued instructions to the other assistant to knock before entering as he slammed the door closed in order to preserve the Queen’s modesty during the examination.

As the healer began pushing on the nail beds of the toes, she asked the young queen. “Madam, I would ask when was the last time you bleed monthly.”

“It has been almost two months.” A faint blush curled up her cheeks when she answered. Oin began stacking cloths in case they were needed, anything to keep from looking at the women at the bed.

“hmmm. You have two children? Do you still nurse them?” Mistress Wheat began looking at the ankles now, pressing into the joints.

“Vian, my youngest but only two times a day if that.” The Queen replied quietly as the stain on her cheeks changed from pink to a faint red.

“He has teeth?” The healer looked at Sigrid who nodded her assent. “Then you must stop nursing. Immediately.”

Sigrid gasped in alarm, her hand to her chest. “But why?! I nursed Fian while I carried Vian. I was never so sick then.”

“That is why you are sick now, madam. You have two children, nursing one and now pregnant with another. You are young but your body is trying desperately to keep up. The birth is hard on women and your children have Dwarf blood which makes it a little more difficult.” The healer was emphatic but Oin could not dispute her findings. The longer lived Dwarrowdams usually waited decades before attempting another child.

Sigrid nodded though she looked sad at being told this news. Oin knew she loved her children, having no nannies to help with their care. Princess Dis as well as the King helped when they could, but so much had fall on the Queen’s shoulders, Oin marveled at her strength. The ‘dams of Erebor were snide creatures to be so hateful to her.

“How do you know that bearing a child of mixed blood is hard?” Oin was interested how she had come by her knowledge. He was unaware of her history before the Thorin’s company arrived at Esgaroth.

“With so few women in Erebor to attend to the needs of so many men, Dwarves have been finding their way to some back alley women in Dale. Two women that I know have no scruples of the race they service if the gold is fine enough.” Healer Wheat advised though she didn’t look to see how her words were received. “A few children have been seen with beards already. There will be more as our two cultures continue to cohabit the same space.”

Oin was both outraged and curious in equal measures by this development. Dwarrows had always been committed to their individual craft, working with a narrow focus to perfect and hone their skill. Those that found their Ones were happy and content in their lives. Marrying a good female, raising a family in their downtime but still driven to excel in their field. At least that had been Oin’s thinking on the subject of Dwarrow life in general.

There had never been the need for specific attention to the subject of sex in his life. While it wasn’t unusual for two Dwarrows to get together in the absence of available wives, it wasn’t discussed in the same context as if it had been a betrothed Dwarrow and a Dwarrowdam. A Dwarrowdam even a widow that was promiscuous would have been a heinous scandal. Such was their complexity in Dwarven society. Two Dwarrows wasn’t a taboo subject necessarily but the importance was placed upon it at the same level as one might expect buying a new pair of boots.

Oin, himself had stepped away from the campfires a night or two during their quest to avail himself of Bifur’s kindness, to which he had reciprocated. Nori had been most friendly with Thorin until Bilbo had joined the company. But there had been no ill feelings to the matter when they had parted to Oin’s mind. Though the idea of a Dwarrow making a walk to Dale to meet and _pay_ a woman for her time when there were respectable Dwarves at Erebor? It would be the same as buying wool when there are sheep on the mountainside that need shearing!

“Oh.” Sigrid commented as her eyes sought out Oin in question. He could only shrug at her. “Are these children unwanted?”

The healer frowned a moment, thinking before she answered. “I cannot say. Some, I have helped place with childless couples who will love them. There are more that I do not know.”

Oin could see her indecision, her worry. It was enough that Sigrid cared about these unplanned children who were so like her own. It might be in the future something could be put into place for the little ones and not just the byproducts of a few lusty moments in the dark but the orphans of the war too.

“Madam, I might ask also. How long following the birth of your child have you abstained from congress with the King?” A knock at the door saved the Queen in responding for a time as the old Dwarf answered the summons. His assistant held out the fresh water with a bow.

Oin walked back to the healer at her bag, giving her the cold metal jug. The woman poured some water into a tankard before giving it a sniff. Obviously satisfied that it was fresh enough, drawn from the underground aquifer, healer Wheat shook a few of the herbs into water swirling them about as she walked back to the bedside.

“Madam.” She held the cup to Sigrid to drink. “Now your congress?”

Oin could see that the Queen regretted her request for him to stay, her face flaming with embarrassment. “We wait until after I have stopped bleeding.”

“Not nearly enough time. You must wait at least six to eight weeks after. Dwarves are more endowed than Men and your body is still healing from the birth. I am worried that not waiting a grace period will affect the ability to carry a child fully in later years when you get pregnant again.” Wila walked to the fire, pouring the rest of the water into a pot to let it boil.

“You seem very certain that there will be more children. Did you acquire this knowledge in the same place as Dwarven proportions? ” Sigrid said with a grin and a wink to Oin who turned to the fire and pretended to not understand. Mistress Wheat’s flirting earlier might have given the young woman the wrong idea of them.

“From what I am seeing in Dale, Dwarves are most potent when they lay with our women.” The healer said as she shot Sigrid a gimlet eye as she packed her things, refusing to discuss Dwarf anatomy that way. “If there are population issues here at Erebor, it would be the fault of their females not the males. Now, I do not like your pale coloring. From now until delivery you should take daily exercise outside in the sun as much as possible. But I want you in bed for a few days to rest.”

“I will send two of my aides to assist the Queen with the children. Goat’s Milk for young Vian?” Oin pointed his horn at the healer’s direction.

“Yes, that will be good. I will also send herbs for the Queen and suggestions on diet for the next few weeks.” The effervescent woman kissed Sigrid on her head as she made preparations to leave. “Be well, Madam. I shall return in a week to check your progress.”

Oin followed her out, planning to escort her to the Great Gates. He gave instructions to the two assistants, one to stay with Sigrid the other to find the Thane for him. Healer Wheat walked slow, giving Oin a chance to arrange his thoughts before speaking. The harsh thump of his heavy boots drowned out completely the soft shuffle of her shoes on the stone floors. The Royal hall gave way to Promenade stair which opened to several guest halls with alcoves for sentries on guard. The reconstructed entrance to the Gallery of the Kings lay before them as they made the left turn to continue to the main hall.

One of the first things the King had down was cut away the golden floor that had come from the failed attempt to encase Smaug and kill him. Fili had said that it was enough that their treasure halls were filled to overflowing even after the reparations to Dale and the Elves, the floor made them look greedier than most. Some of golden chunks had been repurposed into statues that lined the upper niches of the Great Chamber of Thror’s banquet hall. Others had been fashioned into taels with the Axe and Hammer upon the top and geometric designs to be sent neighboring realms as an official gift. Fili had the right idea of commemorating the reestablishment of the Kingdom under the Mountain but fostering the good will of Erebor’s neighbors.

Staring at the entrance, Oin shook his memories aside to speak of the matter at hand. “Will she and the babe live?” He had to ask the question, no matter how much it pained him. Losing the Queen would be a terrible blow to Erebor, both diplomatically and dynastically.

“They will have to be watched most carefully. No beef in her food but lamb, fish and venison and as much as she can eat. I will come weekly until she moves into the second phase of her pregnancy.” The healer trudged down the stairs. “I say this plainly. Were she any other girl, I would leave a packet of herbs on a side table and give her the choice of miscarrying the child.”

Oin drew back in horror. “How could you say or do such a thing? Children are a blessing, a gift ..”

“What do Dwarves call the children that bring about their mother’s death?” The healer stopped to stare at him. “I have seen women like the Queen, young and bearing a child each year until their body withers and they bleed out in the birthing bed.” Oin sputtered but she braved on in spite of it. “After this child is born, I will counsel her on preventative measures at least until she is stronger or the King will be morning her death. The race of Men do not live so long as you, master Dwarf. Would you cut the time down further?”

As one healer to another, he couldn’t fault her convictions as the taller woman walked away shaking her head. It would be a bitter pill for the King to lose his wife and the children a mother. Oin had seen Dwarrows grieve so hard for what they lost, they would apprentice the child early to remove them from sight or give the babe to family to raise. Her words brought to mind the rage young Kili hoarded at losing his Elf maid, the blank hole in him at her disappearance. Fili would be much worse than his brother if Sigrid died in the childbed.

He watched the healer Wheat pass by the crowds moving in the direction of Grand Entrance with a heavy heart. Turning away as a guard stepped forward to guide her through the remaining halls, Oin mounted the stairs once more to check on Sigrid before searching out her husband. He would be honest with the King, tell all that they had discussed. Hopefully, Bofur had him relaxed by now to handle what the news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok.. I went a little more left of center with this chapter. To me in a male dominated society, they are going to have some kind of sexual relations. Maybe not all but some will. My reasoning follows more of the Spartan Greek perspective of men being with men until they marry women to have children, then the monogamy sets in and they are faithful until death takes them.. Because of the severe imbalance in gender, the idea of homosexuality is more accepted. But that doesn't necessarily work in the favor of the 'dams who are faced with the Madonna/Whore backlash. Basically if the 'dams want that pedestal, they have to give up something to have it. heheheheheh..
> 
> I used the term Tael as it is a unit of measure in different Asian countries. Taels were made most of the time of silver with characters stamped or chopped at the top. I thought they are the coolest thing & would work great as a ceremonial gift.
> 
> Wila Wheat's character is really a change from a non canon character, Will Wheatley. I flipped the gender to make her more fun to Oin to chase in later chapters. I am curious on the reaction to this possible pairing, so please feel free to let me know what you think of it. Oin doesn't have the 'ships like the others, so giving him some blanket time with Bifur and possibly Wila will be interesting... her heritage was really fun!
> 
> Wila was checking the nails for iron deficiency. Obviously that would have been an issue then for women as it is now. I was not trying to imply any political agenda nor insult anyone on their views for the herbal reference to abortion. Sigrid will not do it, even to save her own life. 
> 
> Any description of halls and stairs are entirely my own. I have made every effort to include the major rooms mentioned though some detail is lacking.
> 
> There will be courting coming up so research has been heavy.... Any thoughts on the story are welcome!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading !


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's still the same old story  
> A fight for love and glory  
> A case of do or die  
> The world will always welcome lovers  
> As time goes by

The Marketplace was a wonderful area at the level of the Grand Entrance, just past the gates of Erebor. Traders from all over set up stalls full of food, excellent beer, to clothing and handcrafted jewelry. Anything a Dwarrow might need at the end of a long day or if he was trying to escape for a few hours. There were two taverns that held different beers but also wines like the Elf King enjoyed. The Boar’s Nest was a favorite of Thorin’s old company as it was owned by Nori and Bombur whose proprietorship guaranteed the best food in Erebor outside of the Royal Banquet Hall.

Shaking his minders had been a bit hard, Bofur who loved his flute as well as his beer, kept ordering round after round as he sat on the bar. Finally after enough Dwarrows pounded his spine into his chest then drank to his good fortune, was Fili able to slip away. Bombur was too busy throwing a plate of sweet breads at a rowdy group who in turn laughed uproariously at his aim to notice that Fili went out a side entrance.

If the tavern patrons knew of the new heir on the way, it would not take long for the rest of the mountain to hear of his joyous news. A feast would have to be prepared, for Bard would need to be appraised of the new grandchild on the way. The ties between their two Kingdoms could only be strengthened with the new addition to Erebor’s Royal family. With Tilda in Gondor and now Bain in the wild with Kili, Bard would be feeling the empty nest much sooner than expected. Fili had hoped they would grow closer but time had proved him wrong in this, especially after taking Sigrid as his bride.

Deciding to take a stroll outside would be the best bet, Fili hurried out of the main Gate before the stunned guards could stop him. It was a bright day and he could only wish that Kili was well this morning. There was no small amount of guilt that race through his mind after the thought of his brother and his quest. It had been too long in coming, Kili should have been pushed to go years previously. Roac could give him no news of the Elf after the battle, only what he had witnessed before. It had been raven that warned Fili that his brother was in danger on the Overlook but by the time he and others had arrived it had been too late.

Seeing the majestic birds flying overhead towards Ravenhill, Fili lifted his hand to them in greeting as a few croaked in response. As King of Erebor, he honored the ravens for their continued assistance but he refused to use them indifferently. The iron manacles on Beorn’s arms even when he changed form prevented Fili from ever looking at a sentient animal as being lesser than a Dwarf again, especially when they helped guard his family and his home. The Ravens, Thrush, and Eagles were allies not beasts to be yoked.

In the distance, a group of men rode up the main track towards Erebor’s causeway. Seeing the circlet on the leader’s head, Fili eagerly walked forward to share his blissful news with Sigrid’s father but stopped when he saw the thunderous expression on the Man’s face. Realizing that he had walked out of his Kingdom without his axe, Fili cursed when realized that he wore only two knives. In days past, he would have had more than that in his right boot!

Drawing rein on the large horse that might have been pulling a plow in his younger years, Bard leapt to the ground. He was dressed in heavy leather pants and a jerkin that Fili had seen some where into battle. A soldier at his side immediately grabbed the bridle to prevent the black terror with hooves the size of dinner plates from stepping on the young ones running up to him. Fili’s mouth turned down at displease at the King’s oversight. It was unlike him to be so thoughtless.

“Welcome King Bard of Dale and my near father.” Fili called the greeting but it didn’t change the advancing former Bargeman’s expression. In order to stave off a public argument, the King of Erebor extended his hand to indicate they stroll through the meadow in the shadow of mountain.

Fili walked with his wife’s Adad, what was once the Desolation had turned into a beautiful valley flowing to the treeline. In the distance, fluffy sheep herds milled up the outer slopes chasing the fragrant grass. A sharp call from the pony herd in the pastures to the east combined with the laughter of the Dwarves almost made him smile. Under most circumstances, Fili enjoyed the time as summer let loose its grip on their world but the tightly leased anger on the King’s face spoke of ill tidings.

“I have no patience for diplomacy today. Not where my children are concerned.” Bard gritted his teeth as he tried to contain himself. “There is talk in Dale. Vicious idle talk.”

Fili was surprised at this and let it show. “I am not understanding, Bard. Has something happened with Bain and Kili? I have received nothing from the Ravens.. “

“Its about Sigrid!” Bard cut him off, closing in with a face turning purple in his anger. “I told Balin that you were not suited. I told him that it was wrong! You will outlive her by another life time …”

“What is this about by my wife?! I have just received news that she is with child again!” Fear etched across the Dwarf King’s face along with a healthy dose of panic. He swung back to look at the mountain that held his family in its depths.

“Pregnant?! But there are rumors that you will take a Dwarf to be your Queen?” Bard’s anger gave way to confusion as Fili gaped at him like landed fish. The soldiers who had rode with their King shifted nervously in their saddles at this turn of events.

“I would not!” Fili roared at his wife’s father, a Man he called kin as well as ally. “Who spreads such evil about my One?!”

Bard drew back further in the face of his son-in-law’s wrath. “There has been talk in the taverns that some Dwarves frequent that you mean for Sigrid to be a consort while you take a Dwarf as Queen. Tell me this is not so.”

Fili’s anger did not abate as he gritted. “I speak the truth and you may believe me. I would not let her go for any amount of gold or Kingdom! While your words are true that I shall outlive her, I will mourn our separation each and every day! Not take another to wife!”

Too agitated to stand still, Fili paced in front of Bard, unseeing and more so uncaring of him. Who could be spreading such lies? “Come with me!”

Fili marched up the causeway, passed the startled guards as King of Dale’s retinue followed at a discreet distance. Bard waived off his guards who rushed forward as the Kings passed the Gates, the Men would not be needed so far into the mountain. Were the King of Dale in danger from his near son, Fili would have done battle with him outside the Gates of Erebor. The Men took position outside by the main steps to the great Gates, though none were happy to let their king from their sight.

The thunder on Fili’s face scattered many from his path as he wound his way through the maze of halls with an unerring ability. A group of Dwarrows from the mines backed away with their heads down as their King swept passed. Even the haughty Lady Herja and the quieter Lady Thrud scampered away.

“Who would want to start gossip so vile? Who gains from this?” Bard asked with concern as he kept pace. “The Master and Alfrid are gone from Dale.”

“Thranduil and I are at peace, so I do not suspect him. But if it were Dwarves saying this, it narrows the possibilities. The Dwarrowdams gain much so they are at the top of my list.” Fili ground out as he reached the private chambers that he used for council meetings just off the Throne Room. “Dain is not far behind.”

Ori looked up from his space midway down the long carved table. “Thranu Men.”

“None of that, Ori. Summon Balin and Hannar to me.” Fili kept moving, his anger preventing him from sitting down. His long mantle swirled about his boots as he continued to mutter under his breath.

“What do the Dwarrowdams gain by a Dwarf Queen?” Bard asked as he watched his daughter’s husband closely. “Why do they not like Sigrid?”

“It’s a long history. Before we settled in the Blue Mountains, before Smaug, even years yet before my mother’s birth. When my great grandfather Thror first fell to gold sickness, he would stagger in the Hall of Thrain as it was called then amongst his piles of gold. He would be lost down there, playing with coins and gems like a child learning to count. His Queen began to make decisions for the Kingdom while her husband fell to madness. It was the beginning of the rise of the Dwarrowdams here.” Fili walked circles around the long rectangular table, his thick boots pounding on the stones.

Bard looked around the room as the echoes played in the corners of the cavernous room. Fili had taken what was once a private retiring room for the King, making it into a more intimate council chamber. Though not small in the least, his old barge could fit inside with room to spare. The long table seated twelve with a larger chair at the head for the King. Another large table sat to one side for food and mead for longer meetings as Bard remembered when he had been escorted to this room previously. Thranduil had not seen it, he was never invited past the Throne Room.

There were two entrances only, one lead back to the Throne Room while the other led in an intricate chase upwards pasted the barracks to the Royal quarters. Tapestries decorated the walls room, the ones that Smaug had not destroyed. Old axes and hammers, crafted by long dead Dwarf hands crossed themselves over battle standards that had been found in the barracks hall. It was a visual reminder that those people who sat at the long table had a responsibility to the Dwarves who lived under the mountain.

Fili stopped his pacing to look at his father by marriage, a Man half his own age. “Most of our traditions of respect towards the Dwarrowdams were perverted to help the Queen gain power. Her handmaids became unofficial spies here at Erebor, informing on those who might upset their apple cart. The Queen’s enemies were soon they could be dealt with in official ways. But once Smaug came and ruined us, the survivors who picked up the pieces were not interested in deifying the ‘dams any longer. The women now had to work or they didn’t eat, their children didn’t eat. It was hard and bitter thing to lose so much in the space of such a short period. “

The doors from the Throne room opened as Balin, Dis, with the children walked in followed by Hannar and Ori. Dis’ smile stretched wide at the sight of the King, as she whispered something to Vian in her arms. Fian released her red skirts to run to Bard wobbly legs like a newborn colt, a jolly grin on his face.

“Mother, the children should not be here. Please, take them to the Gallery of Kings and let them play.” Fili spoke low but rage was still upon him.

“Of course they should be here.” Dis overruled him with a twinkle in her eye. “They are a living reminder of why the King of Dale and King under the Mountain should be the closest of allies. So.. they stay..”

Bard chuckled at the woman’s daring as the King her son tried to summon an argument. Balin handed the happily wiggling Vian from the Princess to the Fili as they took a seat midway the table.

“What are we discussing? All of the mountain is talking about the Men in the Gate.” Dis looked expectantly from Fili to Bard.

Fili sighed as he took a seat with his son in his lap. “You would make an excellent commander, Amad. I was giving Bard a history lesson on Dwarrowdams.”

Dis looked at him now, if possible her smile got wider with a predatory edge. The gold studded braids along her jaw crumpled in on themselves. “Why?”

“There are rumors in Dale that I mean to take a ‘dam as Queen and set Sigrid aside.” Fili stared hard at Hannar who huffed in amusement. “It isn’t funny.”

“Wretched cows.” Dis complained as she put her chin on her fist. “If they weren’t necessary, I would say drown the lot of them in the Long Lake. One or two need to be weighted, I don’t trust them not to be able to swim!”

“I don’t understand why they would do this? Sigrid would harm no one, so why try to push her out?” Bard interjected with a scowl, taking a seat with Fian in his lap. Out of habit, the King of Dale handed his circlet from his head to the boy to play with while they talked.

“Athanu Men was a princess of Dale before she was Queen under the Mountain. She has no allegiance to the ‘dams.” Hannar advised as he began to pace in front of the others. Hannar had been a big supporter of the marriage for he liked the young queen too. “A Dwarf Queen would have their interests as well as their ear.”

“Sigrid wouldn’t help them get their power back.” Dis finished to help clarify. “The young Dwarrowdams here grew up in poverty. They were fed nightly doses of how it was at Erebor before Smaug by bitter mothers and grandmothers who now have to work instead of being pampered.”

“Sigrid is a fine queen, stoic and brave. So the Dwarrowdams are trying a different tact.” Balin looked at the Princess Dis with a frustrated sigh. “Discord between Dale and Erebor.”

Hannar gruffed in irritation. “It isn’t just the ‘dams. Dwarrows here remember too. The ones who escaped and remember what it was like. Dwarrowdams taught them early who held the power in their lives. It was all they know.”

“Not all.” Balin stared at the table. “My own mother didn’t travel in those circles, didn’t care for the politics.”

“She was a shining example, Balin.” Dis told him as she placed a hand on the advisor. “The question is what do we do now?”

“We eat.” Bard said simply. “A large feast in Dale, honoring the new gift of life for the King and Queen under the Mountain. Since it seems, I shall be a grandfather once more.”

Dis clapped her hands in excitement as a round of congratulations exploded in the chamber. Fili waived them off with a smile. “As long as Sigrid is well. But, yes. A show of solidity is in order.”

“A gift to the King of Dale too.” Balin suggested with a smile to Fian in Bard’s lap. “With words of peace and thankfulness to the father whose daughter has given you such a bounty.”

Fili grinned wide at the advisor’s words, happy that a good solution was apparent. He began to have some ideas for the gift, something made by his hand alone. If he could spare the time. “I agree. I will speak with Oin and the healer from Dale and we will go from there.”

“What healer?” Bard turned to Fili as he tickled the scruff that was growing in along Fian’s chin.

“I know not her name.” Fili looked up at Hannar at the end of the table. “Do you?”

“Healer Wheat. Thanu Men.” Hannar poured a goblet of beer, raising it high. “To the Kings!”

“To the Kings!” The assembly agreed clapping their hands as even little Vian joined with laughing out loud. Fili grinned sheepishly as he stood, hoisting his son under his arms. He was glad that there was no fight in his family. Not yet. The days where he longed for battle came upon him but never would he raise a hand to his kin.

Hannar passed around goblets to the others as another toast was raised. He was head of the foundry, responsible for keeping the forges going. He had much experience of that sort in Ered Luin though not on the scale of Erebor. Hannar had mastered it readily enough, organizing the production down to the striplings rotation.  Having a seat on Fili’s counsel had been without thought as he had good solid judgment behind every opinion. He was a very welcome addition to Erebor.

“I know Healer Wheat. She will take good care of Sigrid.” Bard told Fili solemnly. “She lived in Laketown before it burned.”

Placing a hand on his near father’s arm, Fili exhaled his fear that choked him. “That is good. I can not lose her, Bard.”

Neither man spoke of Kili, the worst example of what happens to a Dwarrow who loses his love. Bard thumped his shoulder in consolation for he knew that same loss of a loved one. His own wife had succumbed to childbed fever after Tilda’s birth. The King of Dale could understand the rage and hate that could envelope a Dwarf so insidiously. Sigrid had told him of the long weeks after her mother died of Bard drinking himself insensible each night. It wasn’t just Men who lost their loves. Many Dwarves had marched into death’s sweet embrace after losing their Ones, not wanting to live. How many stood frozen in the Halls of Waiting because of grief?

Fili tickled his son’s belly, and prayed to the Smith that all would be well.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been thinking 'bout the talks we had  
> All the dreams we shared and the plans we made  
> It seems the timing was much more than bad  
> We were ill-prepared for when they fade away
> 
> Eric Stuart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabbly chapter !

 

Volund and Egil swung their axe and spear in tandem as they fought back to back against the Orcs. The two big men who knew the ways of combat fought in a single unit that would have taken out the pack of goblins without Kili or Bain interfering. Bain noticed they used hand signals against the each other’s leg to move in concert with the man behind them so no weak points were ever exposed. The Orcs who tried to separate the two men found themselves missing a head or other body parts. If Beorn or Grimbeorn had thought them this style of fighting, the prince of Dale could not say. The economy of movement kept both men from barely breaking a sweat.

Bain fought with two short swords as Nori had taught him, one curved down the length of his left arm as a guard. Slice and move right, slice and move left. Never retreat. There was no victory in retreat, only a slower death. Bending out of the way as the Orc struck once more at Bain’s shoulder, Bain went to a lower strike, cutting the Orc’s leg up so that he could bury his blades in the foul creature’s belly. Looking around, only Kili still fought an opponent as the two Beornlings began to pile the dead flesh for burning.

They had been beset so suddenly in this mountain pass. An Orc pack streamed from a crevice in single file in an attempt to divide them up for an easier kill. Their guides met in the middle at a run, cutting down three of the creatures in as many minutes. Bain disarmed one who tried to run away only to fall onto Egil’s long spear. As he pulled away, Volund twirled about to chop off the head in a single mighty swing. The ponies had taken refuge behind large boulders near where Kili had said they had witnessed a thunder battle between Storm Giants.

The grunts of the Orcs as they gasped in death gave Bain a sick feeling. Death was horrible to watch but he was alive and so where his comrades. Kili dispatched the last, shoving his broadsword into the Orc’s neck then giving it a twist. Dark blood fountained out from the wound as the goblin fell on his face. The Dwarf looked around for any stragglers but relaxed as Bain approached, giving him a shake of his head. Looking over his form and seeing no injuries, Kili stalked past to help the others finish their work.

The Beornlings were a quiet sort, neither talking much. Kili had reverted back to chilly manner, saying little to them at night. Most of the time, he took first watch once they entered the High Pass into the Misty Mountains. A week had passed since they had left the forests and plains near Carrock. Perhaps the fact that they were quickly approaching Rivendell had Kili so on edge. Maybe Tauriel had taken refuge there and awaited her love’s return. The Great East Road lay within their reach in another day according to Egil, the more vocal of the two. Imladris Valley was near and their journey was almost at an end.

Volund walked to him, carrying a black Orc spear. “Here.” The tall man tossed the weapon to Bain who dropped it as he wasn’t prepared much to Volund’s amusement. The young prince bent to pick it up again, unsure why he was awarded the weapon in the first place. The mighty escort thumped him on the back with the blunt end of his own spear.

“You pick up like this.” Tossing down his own spear, Volund rolled the center of the staff over his boot to kick up into his hand. “Later I teach you. You have good hand for staff.”

Giving the same method a try, Bain put a little too much into his foot as the hardwood pole struck him under the chin. Giving it a grunt, he rubbed the sting away as he caught a smirk from Kili a few yards away. The Dwarf was cleaning off the blood from a torn piece of goblin clothing. From experience, Kili would wash it down later then oil it as a protective measure. He was most conscientious of his weapons, urging Bain to do the same.

Walking to his traveling companion to assist lifting a heavy one, Bain snarked to him. “So it takes killing things to get a rise from you now?”

Kili’s expression jerked as he snarled back at the younger Man. “No. But sometimes keeping your own counsel can be wise. It feels as if I am running out of time to find her.”

“That is because the Elves gave you news that you don’t expect. Take heart, Kili. All is not lost yet.” Bain didn’t want his sister’s near brother to lose hope. But neither did he want to see the Dwarf who was being his friend crushed if she was yet dead.

Once the animals were retrieved, they started up the mountain once more. The path was a bit steep in areas, so they travelled on foot to give the horses extra maneuverability. They reached a small clearing in the rock face as the night fell. There was no forage, so the horses were handfed as their burdens were released. The piebald nightmare was separated from Isen though the Orc pack seemed to have startled him. Volund was able to brush one side of the insolent donkey’s neck who just stood there and let him.

Egil kept asking in broken Westron about Dale and life on the other side of the forest. Bain answered the best he could though felt a hot blush on his cheeks when asked about his women. Trying to explain that he had none raised the Beorings eyebrows into his shaggy braids.

Taking a step back from the large red horse, the Beornling gripped his fur vest with a perplexed look. “You lika the man?”

“Lika what man?” Bain wasn’t sure what the giant of the man was asking and his confusion showed. Rubbing a hand down Isen’s flank, he turned to his Dwarf companion.

“He is asking of you prefer men to women!” Kili yelled as he began to laugh as he picked out Daisy’s hooves.

“What! No! No, I don’t lika the man! I just don’t have women!” Confusion and concern chased around his brain as he brought Isen some water.

“Me too! I lika the whoo man. Big whoo men, not elfes.” Egil gave a hearty laugh, saying something to Volund who picked up his spear. Unsure of what would be an appropriate response, Bain just shrugged and smiled.

The big man tossed the Orc spear to Bain who caught it this time. The length was nigh onto nine feet with a curved steel blade attached at the end. Not heavy but not ideal as a fighting weapon. It was probably used to prod captives along. The Orcs in the pass should have known better than to attack with Volund and Egril at the fore and rear.

Volund started with the basics, holding it correctly and how tight. After a few deft turns of his wrist, he struck out quickly as Bain countered on instinct. The vibration of the hit made his fingers ache for a moment only as he pushed off but danced to the side. The Beornling stuck again with the blunt end but Bain understood the practice. It was like the sword, he watched as Volund shifted his weight to put power behind his swing. Letting him expend his energy, Bain stabbed his staff down to vault at the Beornling’s left shoulder with a wild battle cry. Unable to recover his staff, Volund spun away to let Bain sail passed him to land on his rump.

Laughing, Kili helped Bain to his feet as Volund told him. “You have good head, Prince. Be more patient.”

“Find a whoo man!” Egil chortled as they settled for the night, the campfire chasing away the evening chill.

*********

Market day was full as many were trying to sell off the last of their goods before Durin’s day. The winters here were longer and sometimes more harsh than what they had in the Blue Mountains. People stored as much as they could so that they could survive until the spring plantings. The wool that had been sheared in the spring stacked high in woolpacks in one stall while in another the finished wool blankets stood ready for sale. Spun cloth woven tight in bright colors lay out in the next stall as many browsed the individual bolts.

With the increasing sheep herds that populated the Lonely Mountain to the North, a Wool Guild was established to be run by a Firebeard named Bor who had married an Erebor lass. He was very even handed, knowing the business from years spent in Ered Luin sheep farms. Under his guidance, Erebor was rapidly making a name for themselves in weaving as well as raw hand spun products. The Guild set up their own rules, the spinners and weavers receiving forty five percent of the purchase price.

Dis helped the young Fian through the stalls, picking up a toy here and there. He tugged at her dark green skirts with a fine grip, she thought as he shook his head at a set of mechanical boars that rotated their heads. The boy wasn’t greedy, he never asked for the family to give him everything. His grandmother could only assume that was the practical Man side coming out of young Fian, suppressing the possessive Dwarf. Leaning down to brush off some dirt from his blue tunic and pants, Dis missed the young Dwarrowdam trying to get her attention.

“Princess!” A young ‘dam exclaimed with a smile causing Dis to smile in return. Fian yanked hard on his grandmother’s skirt as he jerked to see who spoke.

“Lady Eir, I see Master Gloin is giving you a day to yourself.” Dis nodded to the pleasant faced Dwarrowdam with thick red braids.

“Yes, indeed. Madam. I thank it too!” The grin spread her cheeks wide, pulling at the glass clips that tucked her beard close to her face.

A sweet face ‘dam, she was one of the few in Erebor that Dis actually liked. Apprenticed to Gloin, Lady Eir assisted with the accounts and scribe work along with Ori. The tell tale ink still colored her fingers at the joints and sides of her hands that she tried to hide in the folds of her deep burgundy dress. As the only surviving child of Snorri son of Sturl, Dis had taken a liking to her only to meet an equally soft interior. Eir was a darling girl but she lacked backbone to stand up to Herja and her ilk.

“Has Gloin become a taskmaster?” Dis tucked an arm around the younger girl as they walked with Fian down the midway. Many nodded to the princess or bowed if they were of a more formal bent.

“In a way, I find most of the work quite fascinating.” Eir’s happy grin dimmed just a bit as she continued. “Though I must confess, Master Gloin keeps mentioning his son. I am not interested in young Gimli.”

Dis laughed cheerfully. “Tell him so. Gloin will not push for a match against your wishes.”

“Lady Herja advises that I should consider him.” Eir looked worried for a moment as Dis whipped around suddenly.

Picking up young Fian, princess drew herself up in regal stature. “Herja has no business saying that, Eir. You marry your One or not at all. Is that not what you were taught?”

Snorri and his family had lived in the Iron Hills before relocating back to Erebor. Dain had allowed the new influx of Dwarrows into his kingdom but many of the customs that had begun in the Lonely Mountain were banned or outlawed there. He had refused many a lady from approaching his court in any fashion other than specific need.   Dwarrowdams were not allowed the excessiveness that had run rampant Under the Mountain. Eir and others who had grown to adulthood there had a more speculative view of things or so Dis had hoped.

“Yes, but Herja says that it would be an advantageous match but, I don’t want too.” The last word was closer to a whine of young stripling than a full grown Dwarrowdam. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Discuss this your father, please. Listening to Herja will cause you heartbreak, my dear.” Keeping a firm tone, Dis patted her hand in comfort as the young lady who only looked more confused.

Dis let her thoughts wonder as the young Dwarf walked with her a ways more. Why would Herja want Eir to marry Gimli? She thought with disgust. Jumping trolls what was the infernal woman planning now?

*********************

It was quiet as she gained the height, the crunchy shale absorbing the hoof beats of her mare. The sun had set as they had left the valley letting the shadows spread like insidious tangles across the grounds. The wind gusted softly as they had climbed the hill, the horse’s powerful hindquarters hurtling them out of the deep. Winning the trust of so fluid an animal had not been a simple task. The big mare mourned a loss that the rider herself had understood, a loss that hurt deeply after so many years. Bonding over a common pain, they became friends more so than just rider and mount.

Sliding from the brown horse’s back, the Elf landed gracefully, confidently. Riding had not come easy for her, not amongst so many who rode aback before they walked properly. But the lands vastness made travel by foot next to impossible. It wasn’t like running through the lush forests of home, a dance along snapping limb and towering oak. She found that she would be riding for half the morning and still never reach an outcrop in the distance! With her big brown eyes fixed upon her rider, Flandif blew a gust of air on the long delicate fingers that stroked her black nose.

The Elleth took the reins in hand, though they were not needed. Flandif would not leave her side even if they were under attack. The garrison’s horse herd bunched in the distance as the outriders kept watch before moving them in for the night. Unless on patrol, their horses were free to wander and feed wild. They were beautiful, Tauriel decided as she rubbed her mare’s neck once more. Their lines were more graceful than a hundred of Thranduil’s elk, more giving too.

Staring up the evening sky as the stars twinkled into existence, the Elf huffed a sigh much like her bark colored friend.   Nights like these, she would walk out with her memories. Tauriel had known the incandescence of a love returned, awakened by a flame that burned so brightly. Those same memories kept her warm on lonely nights when the loss was the hardest to bare. She yearned for those halcyon days once more with each breath and beat of her heart. So much promise and fragile dreams had taken root before that day at the Overlook only to die a slow death thereafter.  

Tauriel never understood how she had survived the pain of those days and months following, but the years since had been unimaginable. Once more she cast her tear filled eyes to the heavens as her beloved stars winked and dazzled above, wishing for what might have been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all who continue to read my story! It means so much !
> 
> A few things  
> Eir was a Valkyrie name like all of the names of the Dwarrowdams in the story. It means mercy and some might think it will be needed. Her father's name Snorri son of Sturl was taken from Snorri Sturluson one of the Norse writers who inspired the Lord of the Rings. 
> 
> Flandif ~ Sindarin for Skin bark
> 
> I had not planned to bring out Tauriel so early in the story but I like this so much I stuck it in...She is sad and lonely and missing her man.. ahhhh....


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four legs good, two legs bad
> 
> George Orwell - Animal Farm

They had reached the end of the High pass but it had not been without cost. Kili and the others had fought every step of the way, for every foothold and handhold in some parts. While they had been lead to believe that the mountains had been mostly free of Orcs and Goblins, the ones that were left had regrouped with the last of the cave trolls in this region. Twice, they had been assaulted by the rough skinned monsters, twice they had to run for safety. It grated the Dwarven pride to run but they were not matched equally, dying before he found his love would not make for a quiet time in the Halls of Waiting. Ten or twenty Orcs they could fight, but not when they massed around trolls at their center like a rancid nucleus.

Daisy had taken a slash to the foreleg before Isen pounded the nasty Goblin into jelly on the trail’s rock floor. The big stallion had become quite adapt in combat, taking down any who got close. Warg would just lower his head, teeth bared to charge forward, ramming all in his path. Volund had bruise on his hip from where the pony had clipped him at a running pass. Egil had lost two fingers on his left hand that day from a Goblin mace that caught his pike wrong. He had merely shrugged it away as if it were no consequence.

Daisy became Kili’s real worry. The wound she had sustained had not been cleaned right away due to the running, now it was infected despite their efforts. The blade that cut her was not tainted with foul poison but it had by no means been clean. The poor animal had begun to limp and move slower, drinking more often as she slugged her way down the mountain. Green puss had begun to ooze from the angry wound as the white haired flesh at the sides became red and hot to the touch. Volund had not said much as he tended the laceration with spirits when the healing herbs had run out but he looked at the festering cut often now as the smell of rot increased. Kili could only assume that his knowledge had come from living in the wild for so long. Beornlings were a hardy folk but even they had illness and death.

The packs Daisy had carried were strapped to Isen and Warg’s back to lighten her load. The trail was tight in areas, making riding impossible but causing more issues for ailing pony. Kili hoped that they could find some more medicinal herbs soon or the sickly mare would need to be put down to release her from misery.

Volund straightened as he packed the wound with what herbs they had brought after cleaning it once more. “She suffers.”

“I know.” Kili said as he rubbed her neck. “How far are we from the Valley?”

“Tomorrow. Midday.” The Beornling washed his hands in a trickle of water that ran off the side dark grey rock on the pass. The meal had been consumed while he worked so now they needed to hurry and get out of the mountains.

The mare’s head drooped to the ground, breathing heavy. She was in real pain and Kili understood it. But he couldn’t take her life unless there was no hope. Some things in this world where they lived should have an easier life than an opened throat on a hillside. Animals, people it made no difference. They were a part of this world together, living in symbiotic accord. Warg walked to her side, rubbing his head on hers. That he would show affection for the sickly mare in her time of need, brought a smile to Kili’s lips. He was an insolent hardheaded donkey but he had good points too.

Egil gave a shout in the distance which Volund promptly returned. He was scouting ahead for a simpler path so the horses and particularly the injured Daisy wouldn’t feel the strain. Volund walked down the gravel lane quickly, leaving Kili with Bain. They looked to each other in confusion, Isen tossed his head up to give a loud call of challenge.

“What’s happening?” Bain asked as he tried to calm the red stallion who squealed in agitation. “Orcs again? Isen, stand down.”

Warg was getting fidgety but not so much as Isen snorted loudly to paw the ground and yank at the reins. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

“He smells my men and their mounts.” Volund and Egil followed the newcomer who made it up the path without noise.

The craggy face gave nothing away. He was tall with a compact build, walking up the track with a light step. Dark brown hair blew away in the cowl upon his head though it looked of poor quality, dusty and riddled with holes. The sword and leather jerkin had seen battle but were cleaner than his cloak. He must have been travelling a good distance already.

“Well met.” Bain said as he struggled with his mount. “I am Bain of Dale. My companion is Kili of Durin’s Folk.”

“I am Dirhael of the Dunedain.” Bain nodded in reserved greeting but was confused. The knowledge held in the hazel eyes spoke of years that his middling age could not have obtained.

Isen snorted at the newcomer, neither trusting the man nor his scent. He plunged forward with teeth bared before Bain got him under control. The whites of his eyes still rolled in view as he kept attempting to get free.

“He doesn’t like me, and most protective of you. Tell me, how does a simple traveler acquire a horse of Rohan?” The Man chuckled at the Bain’s surprise. “Oh yes. Many years have I lived and none of them blind. Your big red wears his lineage proudly.”

The Man continued to smile until he noticed Daisy, her head low in pain. “What seems to be wrong with this girl?”

“We were fighting off Orcs when she took a slice to the leg.” Kili supplied as he casually put a hand on the blade at his back. He may not always like their horses but the animals’ instincts had been better than his in most situations so far.

When Dirhael walked to her side, Warg slid his long face over Daisy’s back to snort at the Man with bared teeth as Isen screamed once more. “Her mates are very protective of her.”

Kili let go of Daisy to pull Warg away. The unhappy pony tried to bite him a few times as a result, almost succeeding in planting his feet. The Man knelt down to examine the mare’s leg as Bain looked to Volund and Egil. The Beornling raised his hand to the Dale prince as the Dunedain prodded at the infected slash.

“He is friend, Man of Dale. He help.” Egil took Daisy’s tether, stroking her ears in comfort. She nudged his side before looking at the Man at her leg.

“Nasty infection.” The Dunedain pushed back his hood to get a better look and prod the wound. “You have used Feverfew?”

Kili nodded as the horses began to settle in watchful expectation. They had used all they had packed with no positive results. The midday sun was trying to break the cloud cover, a glowing yellow disc behind the white. The mare tried to raise her leg as the Man tightened a bandage but he pulled her hoof down so that she would try to add her weight to the leg and not limp.

“When we get off the track, I will tend her wound further. It needs to be cleaned and packed for a day then cauterized. We are close enough to Rivendell that she will make it but the travel will be slower.” The man stood brushing away the loose sand on his legs.

Kili and Bain walked to him but the Dunedain seemed taken aback when Kili offered his hand to him. “I thank you.”

Dirhael nodded as he took the Dwarf’s hand, the corners of his eyes crinkling with pleasure. Kili had made a friend despite his roughness and the Man seemed surprised that the Dwarf would be so amiable with himself. Bain knew not of the Dunedain people but this Man seemed apart from what he knew of the races of Men. The dark hair was salted with a few streaks of grey but he had a most youthful appearance.

Another rider drew abreast of them on a thick bodied horse, startling Isen once more. “Orcs are on the move.”

“And so should we be. There is a more defensible area not far. We will camp there for the night.” Dirhael took Daisy’s lead as the others hurried off the hillside.

************

They had been on the trail for over a week plus a few days and Dwalin was already sick of his pony. Apparently, his mare decided it would be a more convenient to have her heat cycle now during this trip than back in Erebor. He was continually subjected to the solid white hussy’s peeing every thirty minutes and continuously swishing her high tail, hitting him in the back. There were no stallions mounted at Erebor, save Kili’s beast, due to their natures but Bifur and Unnarr both rode geldings. Unfortunately. Nori had made a few smiling comments that Unnarr would think Dwalin was trying to court him if his mare kept sidestepping to brush against his black pony once more.

They passed the Stone Gate that marked the beginning of the Kingdom of the Iron Hills. The Gate had the distinction of being hand carved by Gror himself at the nation’s founding. Two squared pillars of black basalt banded with thick gray iron scrolls upon the capitals proclaimed they entered the reach of the Ironfoot as Dain was called. Runes had been imprinted on the iron bandings and the straight lattice work connecting the markers. Dwalin felt a slight twinge at the knowledge that he was now within arrow distance of his distant kin. Staring at the iron caged skeletons of long dead Easterlings on either side of the pillars, the bald man decided no good ever came from crossing Dain on his home ground.

Dwalin knew a raven had been bribed to fly ahead of the ambassador who even now travelled two days behind the Captain of Erebor’s guard and his company in a cart. Dain would know by now of the insult that had been leveed to the Iron Court that an emissary’s immunity had been ignored.   They had seen Zigal’s caravan to the south as Dwalin’s company had rode hard passed it in the night once Nori had realized that they had overtaken him.   It was all Dwalin could do to not to ride up the bastard preener and split his head with an axe blade. Try as he might, there was no excuse to be had that wouldn’t start a war between the two Dwarf courts over the outrage of a dead ambassador, no matter how stupid or vain Zigal was. There might be war anyway, Dwalin reasoned since the peacock had been shot by the King’s Justice.

Dwalin grinned in remembrance even as he smacked the mane of his frisky mare as she tried to rub against Bifur’s gelding. The day was winding down and they would have to make camp for the night and soon. It was still a two day journey to Linnar’s hall to the North though Dain was a day away to the west. They would curve in a northern direction in the morning to avoid the Iron Court as Dain’s Hall was commonly called.

Pulling to a stop at the foothill of their mountain pass, the company took their time bedding down. Walking out the stiffness of the long ride was a joy, though many washed up in a nearby stream. The water was ice cold already as it meandered from the snowcapped peaks to the west. The brown scrub grass was plentiful since Dain’s sounders didn’t come this far out of the mountains. Letting the ponies graze as long as they could would save them the extra feed they had brought for mountain travel.

Gror had chosen a good spot here in the Iron Hills for defense as well as a livelihood. Easterling bands from the north had tried to overtake the hills in the years since the settlements had begun but all had failed. Such was the natures of this particular Dwarf clan that they would not be driven out of their homes now after they had so others. Linnar’s clan was but newly settled in last years while Dain, his overlord was the second King thus far. A young Kingdom but everything felt young in the shadow of Erebor.

Jari, a lean Dwarf from Ered Luin agreed to take on first watch. He was better with the animals than most but with a good head on his shoulders too. Letting the ponies loose to forage more now would mean more eyes on them, so Nori agreed to a secondary watch in two hours to prevent them from wandering too far. There was little talk about the fire as they ate jerked lamb and smoked their pipes. The wind blew gently tonight as a few clouds played hide and seek with the stars.

Nori sat up suddenly at his pallet, his hands going to his knives. Dwalin squatted as he put a hand against the ground, only to feel small vibrations in the rock. Looking into the canyon to their west, a faint echo rose from it like the beginning yawn of a giant. No dust yet that he could see as the twilight dissolved into full night.

Feeling a presence beside him as one of his own, the large tattoo man strode forward axes in hand. The ground took a vibration through his boots as the echo became a roar no matter how faint. Dwalin remembered that sound from the Great Battle years ago once they feared the elves would take the Mountain from them. Heavy hooves pounded the terrain as Dain’s mounted cavalry took the ridge close to Ravenhill. Now it seemed as if they were getting a visit once again.

When they rounded the curve into sight, Unnar held his breath beside him. At this distance, it only looked like small objects racing along the ground. Bifur helped Jari secure the ponies who in their fright would run all the way home to Erebor without stopping. The roar was louder now as their mounts brought them ever closer to the Dwarrows on foot. Dwalin knew they had missed their chance to run but that would mean that they had reason to be afraid of a supposed ally.

The first boar came into view was a massive thing, weighing close to thirty five stone. Broad headed with a thick hump, Dwalin could see that it wasn’t equipped for battle, no iron mesh or plating on the body. When Iron Hills rode their boar to battle, they were Abkarul Hakhd. It was light travel tonight only, which mean that there would not be a fight.

As they slowed their mounts to a walk, Dwalin put his axe before with the handle in the sand. The boar’s red eyes gleamed fierce as he came to a halt at the light tug of his master’s hand. Some of the bristles at the animal’s mouth stood white for his age, but a powerful specimen nevertheless. The rider leaned forward in the firelight with a sneer on his face as scratched the animal’s ear with odd affection. Two columns of six took formation behind him, mattocks over their animals’ hump.

Dwalin looked at the great boar. He had never preferred them much for a mount, though in battle ponies were too flighty. The Abkarul Hakhd were battle ready, the boar wore thick segmented plates locked together from the head, extending over the hump called the Crinet while swathes of mail coated the flanks and chest. Angry and tough, they had run down many a Warg or gored an Easterling horse. Their name, Abkarul Hakhd was Khudzul for armored tooth. The tusks that paired on the sides of the mouth were filed down so that they stuck out three inches from the lip line. Serrated metal sheathes were fasted on the stubs to be secured across the noseband to cut the legs out of any who tried to stop them.

“Does the King of the Iron Hills often do patrol?” Dwalin gave the rider an indifferent smile, leaning into range of the boar’s mouth to let him try to give a bite.

The Ironfoot snorted at him. “We are not so poor, cousin. But it helps me understand my soldiers’ hardships a little more than most kings.”

If possible, his men behind him sat straighter as pride flowed for the Dwarf who led them, their king. Thorin had not always liked Dain while Dwalin had liked him not at all. The incessant vanity of him spoke of old hurts and imagined slights that Erebor’s captain didn’t want to assuage.

“Yes. I imagine the world looks very different from the back of a pig.” Someone, probably Nori snickered as Dwalin pressed on. “On such a night, I am surprised that you are not in your hall with a tankard and your Queen.”

“Well that is why I have come, Dwalin. To fetch you back with me.” Dain sat back in the saddle with a vicious smile. “I would not miss the opportunity of your good company.”

This was exactly what Dwalin had been trying to avoid, prolonged interaction with Dain. While the Dwarf King had finally come when Thorin summoned him, he had refused in the initial quest. Safely ensconced by his fire, he waited until the eleventh hour to march to their aid. Many in the Lonely Mountain still thought Dain was a coward.

“I thank the lord for the invitation but we make for Linnar’s hall in the morning.” Dwalin nodded his head in token respect but nothing more.

“Oh? Did you not know? Linnar is waiting for you at the Iron hall.” Vicious smile still in place. “I am his overlord after all. He would not have replied to your brother without consulting me first.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok.. I am going to stop playing with this chapter and just post it.. Somehow against my wishes this became very animal centric. But that is ok too, I guess. Anyway.. You have been introduced to Dirhael of the Dunedain and those lovely Boars from Iron Hills. Dain is an ass but I am not going to tag that, It comes out in the next chapter. Next chapter I will so check back in with Sigrid to see how her pregnancy is coming along.. Maybe Oin found his courage to hit on the woman... lol but I doubt it..


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My life belongs to you  
>  My dreams, my song, all that I do.  
>  No moon, no morning star can shine  
>  No happiness is mine without you near me.
> 
> ~Ivor Novello - My life belongs to you ~

 

“Sigrid!” Dis rushed out of the main gates to the Queen who sat on a blanket watching her boys play before her. Fian and Vian began to clap loudly at the sight of their Gamul Khagun.

The Autumn sun highlighted Sigrid’s hair into a golden halo as it flitted in the breeze. The boys likewise looked caped with gold as the rays touched softly upon them. In the days since Healer Wheat had been to Erebor, the Queen began to recover thanks to the herbs and a change in diet. The pallor of her cheeks took on a lovely glow of impeding motherhood. While she was tired some days, her laugh was just as bright and her smiles quick.

“Amad Dis! You could not be happier if you were busting at the seams!” Sigrid laughed as the stout Dwarf princess ran in a most undignified manner off the causeway to join her daughter by marriage and be quite out of breath at the same time.

“There is news about Kili!” Dis gushed as she tried to catch her breath.

The King’s mother flopped down to the blanket, arranging her plain blue skirts. Still gasping for breath, Sigrid pushed a waterskin to the princess to help her catch herself. The blond Queen deftly caught Vian as he tried to crawl passed her to reach her near mother. The poor woman had been understandably anxious when nothing had been forthcoming about her youngest son. Sigrid had heard talk about sending a messenger to Mirkwood in spite of the cold relations and closed borders.

Sigrid reached to take Dis’ hand. Giving the princess an anxious smile, the Queen asked. “All is well? He has not encountered a difficulty?”

“No! Not at all!” She wheezed before coughing. “Roäc advised Fili just now that one of his own saw Kili and Bain on the passes into the Misty Mountains. They looked well but let their ponies with two guides that looked like Beornlings.”

“Oh Dis! When was this?” A happy smile split as her boys jumped into her lap as they caught on to the ladies excitement. A number of passersby smiled at their antics, unaware of what passed between the two women.

“Some days ago. By now, they should be on the other side of the High Pass.” Dis fanned herself as she gave Fian kiss on the head when he hugged her.

“Oh that is marvelous news! With luck, Tauriel will be there and the quest will be over.” Sigrid wiped little Vian mouth as she finished letting him drink from a waterskin. He began tugging at the lacings at the bosom of her dress, not taking well to the idea of being denied. “Fili is content? He has been so worried lately.”

“Yes, he was laughing uproariously about that horrible nag leading his brother instead of allowing Kili to ride him.” Dis distracted the little boy as Sigrid gave him a toy. “I forget that you knew the Elf too.”

“Yes, she stayed with us for a time. Before and after Smaug. Tauriel saved us from the flames and helped us get back to our da.” Sigrid gave her near mother a smile. “I was young then too but there was no mistaking her regard for Kili.”

Dis gave her a gimlet stare. “I wonder if she loved him so why has she never returned to him?”

Ahh.. Sigrid thought, here is the root of her dislike. Dis had never said anything about the Elf maid in the years since Kili healed and the mountain repopulated, though there appeared to be a silent removal of herself during any conversation. Sigrid had wondered idly if the Princess bore had hard feelings to the Elves in general or to those in Mirkwood in particular for their failure to assist the Dwarves when Smaug laid waste to Erebor. Now, she realized it was none of those things. It was a mother who worried that her son might have been spurned by the love of his life.

“Tauriel may have not returned due to the memories here. They were not pleasant ones in those last days, I have heard.” Sigrid could not look at the Dwarrowdam as she tread through uncomfortable waters.

“No one speaks of Thorin. There are vague references or vicious lies but never concrete truths. Was he really so bad, Sigrid?” Dis’ look was pleading as Sigrid hugged her son close to her.

Like so many others, she didn’t want to tarnish her near mother’s memory of her brother. Thorin had helped raise her sons in the Blue Mountains along with Dwalin and Balin. They had picked up the scrapes of their lives to find a measure of peace in the west, a contentment after so much damage. It was that loss of Erebor, weighing so heavily on Thorin even in Fili’s earliest memories. It drove him always, traveling to many clans, seeking assistance to help take back their home. Could Dis not see that such determination coupled with the Gold sickness would have pushed her brother to do the unthinkable? To do harm to his sister-son?    

A young stripling ran to them, cutting off any further conversation with a message from Oin. Erebor’s healer requested that the Queen return to her chambers as Healer Wheat would be returning with him from the Dale markets to see her. The stripling had also said that the King had wanted to be in attendance for any future examinations. Sigrid smiled at the young Dwarf as the ladies began to pack their things to return to the Mountain.

Fili had changed recently, more tense and overprotective. When asked about his shift in mood, he would take Sigrid in his arms for a kiss. He is so loving, Sigrid thought of her husband they began the trek up the Causeway to the Gates. He had taken to showing up at odd times of the day to leave her flowers or a bit of fresh bread with honey. Fili had always been so attentive during her bearing, but lately it was more so.

A low feminine laugh gave her a stir, drawing her attention to the left side of the rock near the Dwarf Sentinel carvings. Three ‘dams sat on a blanket not far away, one of which was the Lady Herja. Brazen cows, Sigrid thought even as she returned their nod of greeting. None had been so polite to bow, though the Queen had never enforced the rules of respect by demanding deference. Days like this, Sigrid wondered if she had not made a mistake with her informal approach. Dis for her part, swept past without a single look.

“I understand that Dwalin is bringing back a ‘dam from the Dain’s clan?” Sigrid had overheard the tidbit when Balin gave the news to Fili that a raven had seen him pass the Iron Gates.

“Actually, he is bringing back a girl from the Broadbeams clan to the north of the Iron Court from Linnar’s Hall. But yes, he is there now.” If possible, Dis seemed tense as they neared the gates. A young guard came forward to assist them with the children.

“Considering the attitude of the Erebor Dwarrowdams, do you think it wise to host another? Was not the Iron Court ambassador a Broadbeam?” The Queen trusted her near mother but something felt off in regards to this affair.

“Zigal is a Broadbeam but an ill favored one. We want to improve our relations with other clans.” Dis picked up little Fian to drop a kiss on his cheek. “Besides, who can see what the future will hold?”

************

The two striplings and young Dwarf Burin left with him loaded the last of the purchases into the back of the cart. Oin was buying heavy as they had another few weeks before Durin’s day and medicinal herbs would be scarce until spring. There had been talk of a malady in the south near Gondor, coughing, fever and the like. It would be doubtful that the illness would travel here before spring but Oin refused to take any chances, especially with the Queen’s delicate health.

The Dwarf still shuddered at the wild disposition of the King when he had imparted the news that Healer Wheat had given. The young King had a crazed air for a bit as he paced the room with his near father, the King of Dale, seated not far away. Oin had tried to be respectful in his opinion, never daring to impart the scandalous things that the Lady of Dale had told him. Fili had insisted on meeting the Healer from Dale the next time she arrived and to be present at each examination. Bard had rubbed a hand over his face in order to prevent a smile but Oin had been baffled by his manner.

Healer Wheat walked to him with her large pony in tow. The piebald was of hardy stock, thick legged with a deep chest. Must be a relation to Kili’s mount, Oin thought as the gelding gave him a bared look. Willa gave him a happy smile as she scratched the pony behind the ear until he shook his head. The Dwarf smiled as the gelding nudged his black head towards his mistress with a happy snort. She has a way with males, Oin thought but then drew himself up in surprise. Where had that thought come? The woman had no way with _him_.

Frowning, Oin mounted his own mare, not looking at the woman as he did so. The striplings took the cart ponies’ led as they talked animatedly about what they had seen. Burin checked to make sure all was secure before he mounted his bay behind them. Burin had been a young stripling that had survived the Desolation so many years ago. He had been so young then, riding on Oin’s shoulders as they trudged over hill and dale before settling in Thorin’s Hall in Ered Luin. Oin and Gloin had taken him into their home, raising him as a son beside Gimli. His own parents had been smiths, their bodies found among the others that had tried to take refuge in the old barracks once Smaug had cut off their escape. Proud was Oin to see the Dwarf that Burin had become, never more so than if he had been his by blood.

Now Burin gave him a cheeky smile as he nodded his head to the Mistress Wheat as she mounted her horse. He wasn’t too old not to smack around, Oin thought with a grimace as he turned away from the healer. She had walked up to him as bold as you please in the Market requesting that she ride with him to Erebor to see the Queen. Willa wore a pants with a sand colored tunic top, belted at the waist with a woven cloak thrown absently over a shoulder. As she was now going to be helping with the Royal pregnancy, Oin found he couldn’t gracefully refuse. He was an old Dwarf who had lately found himself thinking about a lady with hair the color of goldenrods from Dale more than he should.

“I have found that chamomile tea and mint seem to soothe the dyspeptic attitude.” Willa interrupted his musings with a smile. “What is your opinion, Master Oin?”

 

“What?” Truly confused by her, Oin found that he could only stare at her golden brown eyes. She was so effervescent, it was like gazing at the sun for too long.

Their last meeting had not ended on a joyous note, Willa bore him no grudge. She had not cared that he may have disagreed, only that he listened, that he understood her feelings. Such reasoning left part of himself open and exposed in her presence, like her smiles and laughter stripped his carefully built layers. She was very charming with her great wit and giving nature. Stories of her dedication rang in his ears every time he had ventured to Dale as so many owed their lives and the lives of their loved ones to her.

“You look ill at ease, good master Oin. I wonder at your constitution.” She sat back in her saddle as Burin gave a snort behind them. He had been listening, the exasperating pebble.

Her gelding nipped at his mare, making her sidestep away though she swished her tail at him with a nicker. Oin grumbled at her unintelligently, pulling the mare to put space between the two horses’ However, her gelding followed to nip at his pony’s neck once more. Mistress Wheat nipped at him the same way, giving no quarter and always keeping him off balance. Maybe he was out of sorts this day with his mind roaming in forbidden pastures.

Willa laughed in girlish delight as she pulled her gelding left once she saw his annoyed expression. “Some things are meant to be, Master Dwarf, even if it is only horses. Why should a fish fight against the current?”

Laying a heel to the gelding she cantered away up the hillside towards his mountain home. The out of sorts feeling returned when Oin found himself staring at her backside as it bounced in the saddle far longer than would respectful. So entranced, he failed to notice Burin riding abreast of him until the Dwarf cleared his thought with a laugh.

“So how is your _current_ flowing, Uz Oini?”

************

They took refuge in the lee of an outcropping at the base of a large hill. A wide ravine to one side either protected their backs would cause them to fall to their deaths. Kili could see the lush green of the valley floor as the black slate rock ended as suddenly as it begun near Carrock. A fresh water stream pooled not far away before rushing into the crevices of the rocks to wear away the ravine further. He remembered this place from his last trip out of Rivendell, Thorin had been pushing for them to go faster on the trail. The Oakenshield had been worried that the Elves could catch them, make them give up their quest.

The attitudes of his family were vastly different to each other as was the attitudes of the different Elves. Where Thranduil had kept the company with a proprietary air, Lord Elrond had been most cordial in spite of their less then amiable beginnings. Kili suspected that Rivendell’s high Elf would not have stopped them had he known they were leaving that night but would have urged them to be more cautious than reckless. Kili looked at the Great East Road as it wound through the trees where the ground became level and less rocky. The first part of their journey was nearly over.

The company of Men were as travel stained as he and Bain once Dirhael had met up with his people. The regard of his Men and the attention they paid him singled the tall Man out as the leader. There were close to ten in the company as they broke away to set up a camp for the night. Bain had helped gather the wood for the fires then set a pan full of water on two rocks so that it would boil at Dirhael’s request. Wiping down a thin blade, the Dunedain pushed the knife into the water.  

The Dunedain had taken their horses to the green meadow to allow them some freedom once the Orcs had let go of their chase. The Men grouped their saddles in a ring before putting down their bedrolls as they broke out feed from side pouches. Isen and Warg looked out of place amongst their smaller hardier fellows as they milled about eating the verdant grass. The sleek red chestnut stood several hands taller than the largest of the herd, a scarlet eagle amongst the sparrows.

Volund and Egril had left them with the company, saying that they would hold the pass until they met with Grimbeorn at the other side. Kili had pressed a small bag of gold that he wore on him to each man, telling them to come to Erebor or use his name if ever there was need. If the Dunedain saw the exchange or the parting, they didn’t speak of it merely steering clear of the Dwarf and his Man companion.

Dirhael called to one of the number as he led Daisy closer to the fire. A man broke away from the others, retrieving a small pack from his belongs on the ground. He was dressed as the others, worn but supple boots over fitted pants. A dark leather hauberk could be seen under his woven cloak with matching vambraces covering his forearms to the elbow. He walked to Dirhael, handing him the satchel before taking Daisy’s lead.

Bain and Kili both went to help as the pony became irritated, trying to pull then yank away. Kili almost hit the Man, savior or not, when he saw the small cuts at the wound site to drain out the puss. Bain went to her far side to keep her from jerking or moving suddenly as Dirhael wiped the draining fluid away with a hot wet rag. Once it ran clear, he bound the wound to stop the bleeding.

“Stand with her, I need the bleeding to stop. I would not scorch her flesh tonight, we will be in Rivendell tomorrow. The salve we carry will be enough now that the infection has been cleaned away.” The Dunedain leader stood beside the pony, rubbing her ears softly.

“The Elves have healing for animals too?” Bain asked Dirhael as the Man washed the blood and pus from his fingers.

He looked at Bain quietly as he finished. “Yes. Lord Elrond is a kind Elf. His people will care for her better than I could here. Dorlad! Come, give these two a hand.”

The Man who brought the satchel earlier came to them bearing a small bag of feed for her. Daisy nibbled most politely unlike her fellows that would have taken a finger or two in their haste. Dorlad smiled at her with affection.

“You are bound for Rivendell as well?” He asked wiping his hands when they tried to get Daisy to walk to the watering pool. “We were heading there when word reached us that the Orcs were active again in the pass.”

“Yes. We thank you for your assistance.” Kili told the Man as he and Bain brushed the pony’s sides. “I am Kili, son of Vali. This is Bain of Dale. We seek a meeting with Lord Elrond.”

“Well met. I am Dorlad, son of Dirhael of the Dunedain.” Kili and Bain looked to each other before staring at the young Man.

“Dirhael is your father? But he seems so …” Bain’s thoughts sputtered like a dying candle but slower than his mouth.

“Yes, he is. Dunedain are a long lived race, rarely showing age until our later years.” The Man offered them a smile. “I have an older sister who lives in Rivendell with my nephew, Estel. She does not look old enough to have a child his age.”

“I remember seeing a young boy in Rivendell when last I was there.” Kili told him with a perplexed look. “It was five years ago. He was probably of nine or eight years then. ”

Kili felt his curiosity stretch at the hows and whys of this Man’s sister was living in Rivendell instead of with her own people. He had some recollections of the Dunedain or their legends from his life in the Blue Mountains. There were a few villages of their race to the south but their numbers dwindled as plague and war cut them down. With the destruction of the northern Kingdom of Arnor, many had scattered to the wilds. A separated people are a forgotten people, as Kili knew from his own life in exile.

“There are many who take refuge there, though it could have been him.” Dorlad told him quietly as if he had said too much or there was something to hide. “Lord Elrond is holding a council on western matters which effect the Dunedain. My father is the headman of our village. He will want to have his voice heard.”

Dorlad knelt at the pony’s leg to begin unravelling the bandage. The cuts had stopped bleeding now, but the edges still looked red with a sickly moist appearance. Taking an edge of the spare linen of the bandage, he carefully wiped the area. Dorlad indicated for Bain to give him a bottle from the satchel and another bandage. He delicately applied the pale yellow salve to the cuts before tying the bandage again.

“What is that?” Kili asked as the wind shift the rancid odor of the salve in his direction.

“Something useful.” Dorlad gave him a quick smile. “We will leave at sunrise, so I advise you both to take some rest. My father and I will tend to your mare.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say a quick thank you to everyone who reads, comments or leaves kudos for this AU. It means more than you know that someone enjoys how left of center my brain can be. :o)
> 
> There wasn't a lot that I was finding on in depth day to day of the Dunedain so I took some license with its vagueness and put in a few things. Dorlad is an non canon character that I found from a fan based movie called the Message of Hope. I haven't watched it but the guys they have playing Elrohir and Elladan look like what I would envision. Since he is new, he might be around a while :o)... Kili & Bain will need a guide where they are going, maybe backup. I know the name Vali as Kili & Fili's father is non canon too but I didn't want to introduce him as a prince of Erebor or Bain as a prince of Dale. Dorlad is a member of the House of Isildur but he isn't dropping names either. Maybe if they have some bonding time, they will trust each other.
> 
> Things are moving along with Oin & Willa.. still not sure how far that will go in the middle but I know how it will end. So cute..Burin is a non canon character that Tolkien designed to be a son of Balin but changed his mind with the creation of Gimli. He is already there so why not use him?. ;o)
> 
> Sigrid is sweet but not for long.. 
> 
> Next chptr you have Tauriel walking around in ******* ; then you have Dwalin getting 'dam smacked in the Iron Hills. ;o)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify. ...  
> Olrun & Olgr are siblings whose father is Tarag...they have other siblings but are so far unnamed. ..Tarags only sister married Nain son of Gror lord of the Iron Hills...they had one child (canon) Dain Ironfoot...(Olrun & Dain & Olgr are 1st cousins-- Thorin Stonehelm & Vigdis are 2nd cousins)
> 
> Olgr married Verdandi & have 3 children, Vigg (son) & 2 daughters 1 unnamed & Vigdis Balfor is from the Iron Hills, there was supposed to be another called farli but Thorin brided/threatened him & took his place/p> Unnar & Jari are from Erebor & came with Dwalin
> 
> Skuld is the daughter of Linnar of the Broadbeams & Verdandi's sister..which would make her Vigdis 1st cousin
> 
> Linnars hall is Northwest of the Iron Hills & Linnar owes allegiance to Dain for living there...the Blood Law reference isnt really canon..but based on the Catholic churches teachings on consanguious marriage & annulme

An ague or so it was called by the garrison had begun infect the old and the children in local villages. There were not many behind the thick walls that were not soldiers or necessary laborers. As a result, the illness took longer to seep passed the dark gray stone defenses. The Lord of the Keep allowed families to stay together though they normally took residence in a small hamlet over the next rise. His idea was that the Men would have a resting place away from the fortress, relaxation away from their work. Many of the soldiers came from the settlement or others close to the mountains in the North. It was an advantage to know the land more so than their enemies.

The villagers had brought their worst by cart to the Keep seeking help from the healers. Now the Halls of Healing swelled with the number of the sick as the illness took root in the older Men and the Lord’s own near mother. The poor woman had thought herself helping the sick now had a low bed against the wall where her daughter, Lady Alfgiva, sat by her side.

Tauriel walked down the middle of the stone room between the pallet rows of the sick. Braziers help ward off the chill of the rock but many still huddled beneath their blankets. She had no fear of catching the hacking cough as others did, helping the overworked healers as best she could. The deep rattle of their breathing sounded like a death knell to the Elf as she help many try to drink as the wet phlegm clogged their throats and seized their lungs. It was a terrible way to end your life, she thought once more as neared the door only to stop suddenly at a figure in the corner.

Her heart jumped in her chest as she saw a wide short body with long black hair facing the wall, a most unusual color in this part of Arda. The vicious grip of terror closed her throat as adrenaline chased away her rationale. Hopping over bodies quickly, she landed beside the male to lay a hand on his shoulder, breathing a name that she had not said aloud in three years. _Kili?_ The Man rolled over to his back at her touch, allowing Tauriel to see that he had drawn his knees close to his body, looking smaller than he was.

“My apologies in disturbing your rest.” The Elf turned away as he smiled walking quickly for the door.

The Man didn’t notice the tears in her eyes or the wretched twist in her stomach. He would turn back to his dreams of war and women, never know the distress she felt as the avalanche of memories assailed her. The grief was hard to bear on normal days, the abyss of melancholy that dragged her down to rob her body of energy and the will to face her life. Tauriel would endure, if for no other reason than she had hope that all was not lost. Hope kept her alive now, that and Elrond’s promise.

Tauriel opened the door, taking a deep breath of the cooler air as she made for the curtain wall. The sun was high overhead, giving the last of its warmth before the gray winter sunk its talons into their world again. A bothersome young soldier passed her by for a word but she shook her head and continued. He was a well favored youth who looked very striking in his armor though Tauriel suspected his mother’s milk was scarce out of him. He had taken of late to hide in off passages to engage her in conversation for which she would offer a word or two then give an excuse to go in an opposite direction. There was a light of infatuation and possessiveness in his manner that she couldn’t abide.

This night she had no patience for the young Man’s conversation or a need of his company. The encounter in the ward had left her raw, more so than ever because soon would be Mereth Nuin Giliath, the feast of Starlight in the Greenwood. There would be much revelry and song amongst the Elves for they loved best the light of the stars. Tauriel has missed her last Feast there to spend the evening with Kili in the dungeons, speaking of firemoons and promises that needed keeping. In the wee hours that night, a love had been seeded to grow and bloom in the adversity between two of them.

Hurrying now to the quiet portion of the battlements as the tears escaped their moorings to sail down her pale cheek, Tauriel would hide there for a moment until she could find her course once more. It wasn’t the time in the jails she thought of now or the last Feast but the first night in Bard’s cellar as Kili recovered. The gasping fear that the Man on the pallet in the healing ward was her Dwarf had not left her.

_The smell of dank water was stronger here than on the floors above her head. The water line was a foot below her, lapping against the pylons that held up the house. Tauriel cursed her nose and the reek as she sat beside Kili’s sleeping form. They had moved him down to the lower level this morning so that he would be able to sleep easier as the other Dwarves help repair the Bargeman’s roof. A deep pallet of old tarps covered with a thick blanket had become his sickbed instead of the upstairs table. The cellar was a catchall place full of odds and ends, coils of rope, extra oars and planks. Nets were draped from the ceiling and the walls to prevent tangling or ripping. Or so Tauriel supposed. She had no contact with those at the end of the river who received the empty casks from Thranduil’s palace. The idea of fishing or gathering fish was unknown to her._

_There were barrels here and empty crates, allowing her to arrange a makeshift chair to sit beside her patient as the older Dwarf with the ear horn had called him._ Her patient _. The warmth that had begun that day she had saved him in the Forest matured to a glow that encompassed her lungs, cutting off her breath when he was near. Even now she felt that glow in her chest dampen her eyes at the thoughts of his pain and possible death by the horrible poison._

_Checking the wound in his leg, Tauriel was satisfied he would recover but he would always know the feeling of the scar and its effects. Emergency healing had come easy to her after six hundred long years, there had been battle wounds aplenty among her comrades. The Elleth had not been able to tell the others yet, wanting Kili to know first of the foulness that would never really leave him. It was a hard thing to bare but necessary. Those of the Silvans who had sustained such an injury had cast their Fea into the Starlight rather than linger with the foul malaise after they recovered. The Dwarf would not chose such a path. He was stronger than that._

_As she wrapped his leg once more, her thoughts had turned to his brother with concern. Fili had given her space to help his brother but only within limits. Until this morning, he was always at her elbow to make sure she did nothing except assist in healing his wounds. The fear she would haul them back to Mirkwood, now that Kili could make the journey, was still there in each of the Dwarves’ faces. Quietly, she had told them, tried to help them understand that it wasn’t for them she had come, not to take them back. The one in the odd hat had smiled at that, shooing the others away with strange remarks that made the Elf wonder if he had guessed her true purpose all along._

_So what if he does, Tauriel thought brashly. She could not lose her Dwarf, not without a fight. Their uncle had left Kili to his fate for the Mountain after a week of feasting at the town’s expense to burgle the Dragon’s horde. Either The Oakenshield had been blinded by greed to his sister son’s illness or he had not cared. Either way, Tauriel would not stand aside when or if Thorin returned. Not now when she knew her feelings were not alone._

Do you think she could have loved me? _Those simple words uttered in fever speech had grabbed her deep inside and refused to let go. She had known the answer before the question had been asked. The truth of those feelings had added desperation to her mad flight from Mirkwood when the Orc confessed of Kili’s imminent death._

_Yes. She could. Yes, she did._

_Reaching to put a hand on his brow, his own shot up to snatch her wrist. There was a cheeky smile on his lips when he opened those warm brown eyes to her. “I am not wearing trousers. Could you not have awakened me before the molesting began?”_

_The clear expression as well as the intent behind the words heated her cheeks before she could stop it. The bloodied look to the whites of his eyes had slunk away after the healing as had the pale blue tint to his dark iris. His cheeks had not gained their color but they would in time as he regained his strength. Still holding her wrist, he quirked an eyebrow at her. His challenge and good humor brought out her own._

_“I have seen all I need to see.” The smile was shy but still she tugged to get free only for him to hold on a little tighter but not harshly. She could not look at him in the eye, not yet._

_Leaving her hand captive in his, she touched his brow with the other for signs of fever. Kili closed his eyes as he grinned to pull the captured hand he held to his cheek. “I dreamed of you.”_

_“Oh?” Trying to retreat was impossible for her, the skin under her fingertips was warm and alive making the glow in her chest spread down her body._

_Kili moved his face against her hand as her thumb swept over his nose to brush over his eye. The rough beard so unlike her own people sparked twistedly new feelings in previously quiet areas. “There was a white light surrounding you, like the hottest flame in a forge. It was the heat that drove the cold darkness away. Your light grabbed me, wouldn’t leave me in the dark.”_

_“No.” He had been so close to death, to be eaten by the Orc filth’s weapon frightened her. “I could not leave you there in the darkness.”_

_He opened his eyes again to stare for a time and still she didn’t let go of him. He was fire, catching her glow to burn from within her own body. “Will you stay? There are no bars between us now.”_

_“I am not sure there ever were.” She told him softly as she leaned down to press her lips to his for the first time._

_****************_

The Iron Court had not changed since Dwalin had been here some forty years previously. The entrance to Dain’s stronghold was still just as plainly ugly as he remembered. The Dwarf representations on the rock face at the valley entrance had a constipated look as if they were about to scratch themselves and fart at any moment. The great Basalt statures of black boars guarded both sides of the entrance, finely carved with lifelike snarling. Large iron chains laced through their mouths, attaching to the spiked iron sheaths on their rock tusks. They looked constipated too.

The Lord of the Iron Hills had a frantic hatred of the taller races or so Gandalf had said on more than one occasion. It was the only explanation for the lowered ceilings in the all parts of the Iron Court except the entry way. Dain would treat with the peddlers and merchants there, never allowing them into his inner halls. Dwarrows and Dwarrowdams mingled with Men and Hobbits as they looked over the assorted wares laid out on makeshift tables.

They had arrived late last night, Dain taking a short cut to the back side of his Kingdom that the tattooed man didn’t know or probably remember. The labyrinthine rocks and paths would hard to navigate in the daylight much less in darkness. Upon arrival, Dwalin and his men had been shown rooms in a hall that lay suspiciously near the Barracks halls just off the Central Forge. The son of Fundin thought it a miracle that the Ironfoot didn’t believe in jails, he simply killed his captives. They would be where they would have taken their rest in cells last evening instead of the hard bunks, well away from anything of value. Their gear had been brought to them this morning with the attendant leading them to the common baths to wash away their travels.

The morning meal was a quiet affair, served in an almost deserted chamber. The beef and bread with ale to wash it down flowed as the company had not eaten so well in the last two weeks. The Dwarrows who joined them were miners but ate away from his group without nary a look or a word of greeting. Dwarves here kept to themselves more often than not but still drink was known to loosen many a tongue. Dwalin gave Nori a pointed look who immediately separated from them to spy as far as he was able. The others ate with one hand on a weapon but tried at least to be circumspect about it.

With none to stop them or make the company feel imprisoned, they walked to the Entrance and the outside Market to have a better grasp of their surroundings. Not much had changed here in the elapsed him for Dwalin as he picked a serrated knife. There were less ‘dams circulating than there used to be, but many had relocated back to Erebor in the last five years with their kin. The looks his company garnered were of wary curiosity, but no bitter anger which pleased him. Dain, hopefully, was being more reassuring to his people about the status of Erebor than he was led to believe.

They had not been there long before a Dwarrow with a smooth gate ushered them back inside to meet with Dain and Linnar in his main gallery. The Ironfoot sent his regrets that he had not be available this morning for the first meal. Dwalin spotted Nori having a tankard at a stall set up for ale as they passed though he didn’t call his attention. Nori would find out more on his own then Dwalin did with the principal players.

The main gallery was very Spartan in presentation, only the essentials needed. While many a Dwarf would decorate their halls with the excellent workmanship of their race, Dain had done nothing. The scraped walls held no jewels nor finery, nothing that would denote this place as a King’s audience chamber. Dwalin had never questioned the wealth of the Iron Court, he could only assume Dain didn’t wish to attract the same attention from Drakes that had robbed his eastern cousins. Dragons had no need for Iron, Dwalin thought as he looked up at the low ceilings here as well. Nothing had changed in the long years since he had graced this room with Thorin to beg Dain’s help.

Two large black statues stood sentinel on either side of the mounted dais that held Dain’s high backed throne and his Queen’s pillion. The one on the right was Dain’s father, Nain who had died at Azanulbizar, never wearing the Iron crown. His axe and warhammer stood mounted on the wall with his father, Gror’s mattock. The statue on the left was of Gror, himself. A younger brother to King Thror of Erebor, he had worked hard to establish this realm. Tall for a Dwarrow with a large build, Dwalin felt a shiver underneath at the fierce gaze of the statue that was at once so lifelike.

Linnar of the Broadbeams sat on a stool by the long table at the right of the dais, with an ill-fated expression. Old was he now, with more gray and white in his braids then from last they had met years before. His tunic was finely made as was his iron belt and clasps in his beard, proclaiming him a subject to Dain. Dwalin could see the Dwarf was unhappy about something with a frown upon his brow, where as he used to be very merry with an excellent sense of fun. Whatever the problem was for the Broadbeam headman was unable to go against his overlord, leaving Dwalin powerless to help him. Fili would not see it as a betrayal that the Dwarrow would have told Dain of his arrival but the son of Fundin had to know it would cause complications, especially now.

The Broadbeam clan were unique in the fact that there were more Dwarrowdams born to their families than any other tribe. They wholeheartedly supported the Blood Law preventing cousins closer than fourth degree marrying or it was considered incest. With more females than most, Broadbeams married for love but had larger families. Why some didn’t have but a son or two at the most! Linnar had two daughters with three sons and all from the same wife. The youngest had been invited to Erebor at the Princess Dis’s request or so Balin had led him to believe.  

“Ahhhh.. Good morning, cousin. I trust you spent a quiet night.” Dain chortled to his own joke as he strode into view from a side chamber. Linnar got to his feet at the presence of his liege.

“Well enough.” Dwalin nodded his head but the title of cousin was beginning to wear a little thin to him.

“Good. Good to hear.” The King of the Iron Hills waived a few of the stripings who following bearing trays laden with food to the long table by Linnar. “I say we get started then.”

Dwalin looked at Linnar whose own mouth tightened with disapproval. The older Dwarf began to tug on his beard braids as he took a seat once more. This was not a good beginning at all.

The bald man looked back at Dain who took his place at his throne. “What are we getting starting with?”

“Negotiations.” Dain’s smile was unpleasant as he gulped the beer in his tankard. “Since you have come for Linnar’s daughter, I must have something in return.”

Dwalin felt a little sick as the honey beef from breakfast rolled in his belly as he jerked his head to the Broadbeam headman. “That was not my understanding. Linnar of the Broadbeams is allowing his youngest to come to Erebor as a guest not as trade goods.”

Linnar gray streaked beard bristled at the banter. “My King, if I may…”

Dain was quick to soothe the Chieftain with a courteous smile and a wave of his hand. ”Now, now old friend. Dwalin knows me as plain spoken and so shall you. If it is your wish that the Lady Skuld should travel to the Lonely Mountain with their decadence and corruption, I will not gainsay you. However, I would not like..”

“You would not like to let something go without squeezing as much as you could from the situation?” A clear female voice dared to interrupt the King as a newcomer swept into the room.

Dwalin knew that voice and it seized his body, his heart galloping like a bolting pony. The Dwarrows behind him bristled at the Ironfoot’s insults of their home, rightly so. Dwalin himself put a hand on his knife as Bifur did the same, though not for the same reason. His heart and mind began to war with itself on conflicting reactions to the situations in the room.

A Dwarrowdam glided past the stunned captain of Erebor, approaching the Ironfoot on his throne. Her hair possessed more red than blond and so were the delicate braids at her heart shaped jaw. Her gown was a light grey, the same color as her eyes that he remembered would turn dark with emotion. Her tight sleeves were decorated with intricate steel bands up to the elbow that matched the girdle around her waist. Dwalin stopped his perusal at her neck, he didn’t want to know if she wore braids of another.

“Olrun, dear one. I looked for you earlier.” Dain came down from his throne to raise the Dwarrowdam from her curtsy so that he might kiss her cheek. Dwalin looked to Jari beside him so his gritted teeth at their touching would not be seen.

Mahal’s breaking fist she was a beauty, Dwalin thought as he stole at quick glance to her face. The Lady Olrun had been just entering maturity when Thorin had come for help and Dwalin fell under her spell. Twice her age without treasure to his name, he had tried to keep to himself away from the smiles and faint touches of her hand on his. He had tried but failed as any Dwarrow might in the presence of his One. He would awake in the darkness with her rosy scent in his nose, making him ache with longing and regret. Now she stood with Dain, her cousin as Dain’s mother was her father’s sister. Dwalin turned back to see her eyeing him speculatively.

Years had passed but Olrun shone brightly now like the rarest jewel. She had grown into the beauty that had been promised in her youth though its dewy freshness still clung to her. He had turned from Olrun forty years ago, unable to foreswear himself as Thorin’s sworn brother. She had cursed him then, crying when they had parted for Dain would not risk his soldiers or his Kingdom to reclaim Erebor. There was none of the old tears now in the Dwarrowdam before him, as he let his gaze skate away from her once more. Cowardly.

“I am sure master Dwalin would was not prepared to bargain for a guest, dear cousin. You do him grievous wrong!” Her pout looked genuine and Dain thought so too. “I would not want some Dwarrows to hear that our beloved King could do so much.”

“Olrun! I merely wished surety of her safe return. Bargaining is a most Dwarvish virtue. That is all.” Dain walked down to her and tucked her arm into his as an intimate gesture that make Dwalin grip a knife tightly. “Erebor has been collecting so many of our finest since Fili took the throne, I would hate for him to acquire our all of our ‘dams!”

Olrun’s bell like laughter chimed loudly. “You have too many women here as it is. The Mountain Court is not so decadent or corrupt as you might think. If you are so concerned, than I shall accompany her.”

Dwalin straightened visibly in alarm and anger as did the other Dwarrows with him. “I do not know where you have heard the foul lies that we are corrupt, King of the Iron Hills, for we are not! Erebor thrives because her people have returned home! Artisans, crafters and the like. But I was sent to the Iron Hills bring back the ‘dam of Linnar, not a full retinue!”

“Master Dwalin.” The rich tone of Olrun’s voice slid over him like a waterfall on a hot day, making Dwalin fight off a quiver of desire. “Do you imagine that my King would allow a Dwarrowdam of high blood to travel alone with five Dwarrows without family or escort? I have just said that the Mountain Court is not corrupt, would you make a liar of me by requesting such a thing?”

“No, my Lady but..” Dwalin stumbled over his tongue as he watched the light of battle enter her eyes. Her temper only enhanced her beauty.

“Then it is settled. I will arrange the escort, my dear King. We will leave within the next two days.” The blinding smile she gave him almost cut him down at the knee faster than her bullying.

Dwalin looked helplessly at Dain who shrugged before patting her hand before announcing the audience finished. Not quite sure what just happened or how to stop it, he looked with a stunned expression to Linnar who grinned at him. Bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mentioned at the beginning I stretched the time line out some for when the Dwarves were in the Mirkwood Jails but I also added the two weeks they were feasting in laketown before setting out to the mountain. That was canon. I want to show that the love between Kili and Tauriel wasn't spontaneous, that it grew.
> 
> I put in the trip that Thorin came to the Iron Hills years before the quest so that it would seem as if he just couldn't let it go, In that train of thought, Dain would have been newly on the throne and less willing to commit.
> 
> I found references in the Viking culture for Stallari - Marshall as apposed to Gragon, Khudzul for champion. I didn't like either name to call Dwalin in light of his close relationship to Thorin and why he would have left his one. I settled for sworn brother as relationship instead of a title.
> 
> The lord's wife is named Alfgiva, that is a variant of Elfgiva who was a Saxon Kings wife. very appros for the lady and so forth.  
> Olrun means ale rune and was a Valkyrie.. There was a notation of a Bavarian goddess of pregnancy called Olrun.. :o) hmmmmm
> 
> FYI.. Linnar wasn't happy about is daughter going off with a pack of dwarves without a 'proper escort' but he wasn't keen on the bargaining.. that comes up later. Dain is still an asshat. 
> 
> Ague usually means fever but I used it for the Flu that is spreading since it isn't everyday vernacular and fits with the corresponding language of the region Tauriel is located


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We shall never find that lovely  
> land of might-have-been.  
> I can never be your king nor  
> you can be my queen.  
> Days may pass and years may pass  
> and seas may lie between--  
> We shall never find that lovely  
> land of might-have-been.
> 
> ~Ivor Novello - Land of Might Have Been ~

 

“My lord Elrond. Prince Kili of Erebor and Prince Bain of Dale have arrived seeking a meeting.” Lindir whispered in the Peredhel’s ear.

The Elves and Men who had gathered in Imladris had several complaints but looked to Lord Elrond as their mediator. Questions of the where the Rangers of the North fell in relation to the need for security in the southern plains of Eriador rose again and again. Some wished for the tribe to be more proactive while others wanted the right to settle their own affairs. The Dunedain of the South had married so often with Middle Men that the longevity of the race had passed into legend. A pity their skill had not. The honed warriors were revered, expected to perform feats that were out of reach for the most battle worthy Elf.

Schooling his features at the news, Elrond nodded to his steward. “Offer them food, comfort and our warmest greetings. I do not think I shall have opportunity today. ”

Lindir bowed his head at his lord’s instruction as Glorfindel fell in step beside him. The former Lord of the House of the Golden Flower let his power do his speaking as he drank from his goblet. The understated white tunic had golden flowers stitched at the neck and cuffs but the Golden Celandine at his breast signified his past life. Proud was he of that time, though he never spoke of it to others beside The Peredhel.

“Lindir, please make available the baths. I am not sure the guests we have would appreciate Dwarf public bathing.” Glorfindel snorted at the comment as Lindir noticeably bit the inside of his lip to keep from smiling.

As the steward departed, the high Elf asked, “I wonder why we have the pleasure of two princes from so far away.”

Lord Elrond had known that if the Dwarf Prince came to him, it would be with sadness that he would take his leave. “They seek a Silvan Elf.”

Glorfindel humped at the comment. “The exile you helped?”

“The same.”

Shifting to the side as two counselors walked past arguing the merits of heavier maritime taxes in Dol Amroth, Glordindel gave his empty goblet to a passing attendant. Light musical strains from a lute and harp played from a discrete corner. The food tables had been refreshed with lighter fare as the meeting continued to lag on into the afternoon.

“I wish them joy of that.” The Gondolin lord commented indifferently.

“The Dwarf pines for her, as she did for him. I remember you did not care of her presence here. Why is that?” The days after their arrival back in the Valley had been one of complete upheaval. There had been no time to address Glorfindel’s cold attitude.

“She was a captain of Mirkwood’s guard. She might have been greater still, had she the strength to be loyal.” Honor was absolute to the reincarnated Elf, it was one of many attributes from his former life that he held sacred. He must have felt the Silvan’s honor lacking to be so unconditional in feeling.

Elrond watched his daughter Arwen move among the gathered, smiling and offering a delicate hand to few. It was love that made the Tauriel leave her home. It might be love that took Arwen one day from them. She was due to depart for Lothlorien soon and it would be the last time the Half Elven would see her for many months. The joy in his heart would dim in her absence but it wouldn’t be for long, never a long age. Her fate was still ever turning, not settled. The heavy knowledge of what might be was a hard stone to lift on bright days.

“There is much strength in love, Glorfindel. Not shame.” Lord Elrond touched the shoulder of his friend before walking to join Arwen.   He would spend what time he could with his youngest child, escorting her around the groups as the sun dipped close the mountain peak.

***************

Fili sleeps but his dreams are not always pleasant ones….

_The nights were getting colder now on the lake as the time passed since uncle Thorin had left for the mountain. Durin’s day had come and went yesterday without a word if the company had failed or succeeded in their quest. The anxiety was wearing all of them, Fili the worst as fear for the others weighed on his heavily. Patience is virtue, unfortunately isn’t a Dwarvish one._

_Fili had known something too was happening with Kili who now followed the Elf around the room if not bodily then with his eyes. His mobility was better but Oin was still concerned that the wound would reopen with the walking to the great Gates once they made it over the lake. Fili understood and agreed with the aged healer while the Elf remained silent on her opinion of Kili’s health. The Blond Dwarf reframed from asking her outright, wishing she would offer it without being pressed._

_It didn’t stop him from wanting to demand that Kili tell him all of what was transpiring between them in the cellar. A blind Orc could see that it was more than Tauriel just helping him heal. He had walked in on a very vocal argument where she had hidden his clothes to keep him off his injured leg, for Mahal’s sake. Fili knew his brother would never lie to him, his nadadith might talk around a subject but never lie. But Kili had to know if their developing relationship was to be real by Dwarven laws, an announcement to his family and hers was required. Fili had not idea of Elvish courtship and the problems from that front didn’t end here in with his brother._

_Fili cornered Kili upstairs the next day while Tauriel and Oin went into the town looking for food and information on Bard with young Bain. Bofur was on the roof, supposedly cutting the planks but probably making toys for Tilda. The Bowman’s children had grown upon them all in one fashion or another. Tauriel was teaching them Sindarin when she thought no one watched._

_“Kili, tell me true. What is this with the Elf?” Fili watched as his brother’s dismal expression cleared to one of reverence, giving the blond Dwarf a painful shock._

_“I love her, brother. It is hard for me to be away from her. Like now, I feel all ripped apart inside because I can’t see her or touch her. It hurts even though I know she will return, it still hurts.” Kili turned to him now, questioning. “Why does it hurt so?”_

_“Because it’s real. She is your One, brother. I have heard the pain, the yearn lessens after..well.” Fili gave him a small smile as he drew Kili’s head to his own. “This is a joyous day. Maybe you two should not be in the cellar alone now.”_

_“Her knives are sharp if I misstep, sharper than her tongue. I would not trespass without consent.” Kili closed his eyes as he drew his sibling’s breath into his lungs. “Why are you not happy for me?”_

_The blond Dwarf was quiet for a time, turning to stare at the wall. Time passed and still Fili was silent. He wrestled with what he knew of himself and what he suspected would ensue if others were told of what was happening in Bard’s house. Kili had not even thought of their mother at this point, that was another bridge for another time. Thorin was a hard obstacle for them both, but Fili knew he would stand with his brother and help him fight for her. The snort was the only clue that black hair archer could stand it no longer. Kili cuffed his brother on the ear impatiently with a scowl that would scare a warg. Fili merely laughed him._

_Tauriel was quiet in Fili presence in general but smiling often to his brother, though that didn’t mean that Kili wouldn’t try to touch her or be close at hand. It was endearing really, that she found him comely when so many of the ‘dams in the Blue Mountains had not. She was tolerant where others had mocked his braidless state and archery skills. What she saw in his brother, Fili could not say it was love but it gave him hope._

_“You have told me, now you should know too.” Fili got up from the table, walking to the window. His brother gave him a peculiar look as he joined him._

_Outside on the pier, Sigrid was standing in the pocked sunlight talking to some of the local women. A gull called overhead as the wind ruffled wisps of hair from her braid. He cared not for how she was dressed, it might have been rags. Fili just knew that she was his One and he had no idea how to approach her once he had realized._

_“It’s Sigrid.” Kili told him with an indifferent shrug. Fili just looked at him as he took a deep breath._

_“She is_ my _One, brother.” The shock on Kili’s face was priceless if it hadn’t been so sad. He didn’t understand yet but he would. “It is how I know what you are feeling. I feel it too when I am around her and without her.”_

_Kili’s head snapped to the women outside. “Brother, she is young even by the reckonings of Men.”_

_“I am aware. It makes the ache no less, I assure you.” He looked at her now from her golden crown to muddy checkered skirts. Sigrid looked in their direction at that moment as if feeling his regard._

_The smile she gave him was beautiful, lighting up her face. All the worry and angst he had been feeling lifted away from his soul, making grin in return as he waived to her. He wanted to bring her with him to the mountain, to drape her in gold and jewels. Love her all the days that Mahal allowed them and hold her through the night. But he couldn’t, not now. So he would settle for freeing her father and make sure they were safe before he took his leave. Alfrid and the Master had kept Bard locked up since Thorin had left, saying that he was causing sedition. A jail break wouldn’t be difficult for a handful of Dwarves to accomplish._

_“When will you tell her?” Kili asked quietly as Fili moved away from him and the image of the Bargeman’s daughter just outside._

_“I can’t.” Fili had made the decision before he talked to his brother. “The laws of our people are clear. If I have her, take Sigrid to the Lonely Mountain as my bride, I will forfeit. You will be the heir, only you can’t if you pledge to an Elf. You have not the patience to be king at any road.”_

_Kili’s eyes widened as the ramifications were finally understood. They were the heirs of Durin as Thorin had no children. Responsibility had been hammered into them early until the metal at their core shown bright with dedication and pride for their bloodline. Only, Fili had not done as he had been commanded, he had left Thorin for his brother at the Quai. Now, he would put aside his own wish to marry his love, taking a Dwarrowdam of his Uncle’s choosing so that Kili might have his love. One would have a happy life and the other would be King under the Mountain._

_“Uncle could always marry and have heirs!” Kili crossed to him but Fili pulled away. He could bear his broken heart quietly but not if Kili kept going on with it. “Become King after he passes to the Halls of Waiting and change the laws!”_

_“She will have died of old age by then. Their lives are not so long as ours or your Elf.” Fili breathed shallowly for a moment, getting his anger under control. She would die one day and he would never be there to say goodbye._

Fili shook himself awake as the memories passed him by. The old hurts that haunted him tonight were of his brother and not the dead dragon breathing a fiery death from above. News of Kili and Bain had bolstered him in a time when he needed it most, now that he felt like everyone in the whole mountain conspired against him and his family. His brother was probably at Rivendell now, safe for the moment and happy if his One was with him, far away from the cesspit that Erebor had become.

The laws had been changed after Fili had become King, but he had let others drive forward the notion. He was marrying his One, he cared not who had the glory of the precedent. An amendment had been added to their laws that a King or heir may marry outside the Khazậd if it be in the interests of their race. A union of Erebor and Dale when the mountain was newly reclaimed fell under that purview. He had foregone any additional mention of heirs or who they might marry if they be of mixed race. Fili would not impress upon his children who they could marry when he barely had the choice himself.

The rumors of a new Queen had died down for the moment or if they had not, Fili was not told. Sigrid’s health according to the healer from Dale was better but she still had a long way to go until she regained her vitality. The idea of losing Sigrid in the birthing bed had kept him awake for two days, so scared was he that he went to the forges to work on the official gift for his near Father.

His wife had come for him without the children in tow at the end of the second day, the stern look on her face due to his absence. The two striplings that Oin had found to help with the children were a gods gift, taking over a larger share of the children’s care, though the Queen has reservations. The other Dwarrows at their stations hid smiles or turned away as she stood staring at him but not entering the forges itself. The bearded traitors ran from the hall as if their britches were alight. Fili understood what she was saying, being meekly led back to the Royal hall that day.

“What troubles you, my love?” Sigrid shook him out of his musings as she rubbed her body against his. Her sleepy fingers combed through his chest hair, tugging forth a rumble of contentment.

“You, my love.” He kissed her forehead as he pulled her into this arms.

“Do not fret over me. I have no plans to leave you.” She murmured against his neck, closing her eyes. She drifted back to sleep, secure in his embrace.

“Nor I you, Azyung.” Fili kissed her once more, sinking down into a dreamless sleep.

**************

The room that they had been shown was much nicer than the last visit to Rivendell. The barracks style accommodations had been heaven after the long run from the Orc pack, Kili had almost wish to be back in them. The suite of rooms that he and Bain would share were open, filled with light and birdsong. Connected by a balcony, each had the privacy of their own bed for solitude and reflection. The ever present roar of the falls was not so close as they had been shown to a back tower of the a side lodge to the right of the main house. Richly appointed, with curved lines that the Elves favored, the neutral tones might have afforded peace and serenity to any other. But not to a Dwarf.

Kili finished fastening the last of the buckles down his midsection of what he comically called his court clothes. The thick stylized leather belt he slid around his waist would have been good enough over cleaner clothes than what he wore earlier but it would have gotten back to his Amad. Mahal couldn’t save him if the Princess heard he went before Lord Elrond in less than his best. He would rather hide in Goblintown!

The sleeveless surcoat of dyed blue wool stopped at the knee giving him greater range of motion but were not the height of fashion. The black under tunic carried the same silver embroidery down the sleeves as the edging of the surcoat. Dwarven in design it was something he might be forced to wear to banquet until he could slip away. The Elvish dagger would have gone at his back but here he felt carrying it would sent the wrong message as to the ownership. Strapping his sword at his side, he felt nervous for the first time this trip.

On the bed before him lay _Orcrist_ in a draped blue cover. Fili had wrapped it carefully so that it looked more like a thick bundle than a long lost Elvish sword. The material that covered it was a fine wool with Dwarf runes stitched on the flap. Looking closer at the needlework, Kili smiled as he recognized Sigrid’s deft hand at its intricate nature. A Queen could delegated the work to another but Sigrid made every effort to leave a personalized touch on what should have been a simple gift. Erebor was lucky indeed every day that she loved his Kingly brother.

Bain had been in Kili’s adjacent room while he unwrapped it, never having see the sword up close. He had admired the blade but not been overly impressed. Bain carried a curved Elven blade which had been a gift from King Thranduil upon Bard’s coronation, that was much lighter than the heavier _Orcrist_. Legolas had given it back to Thorin at the beginning of the Great Battle per Thranduil’s request. The reason behind the Elven King’s actions were unknown to Kili but Fili had refused to bury the relic with their uncle. He had used the argument of the fact Thorin would want his axe and oakenshield with him not a pointy ear’s toothpick. So now the sword would find a home with kin of its maker who Kili hoped would have better luck with it.

Bain awaited him by the open doorway to the outside terrace. He dressed in finer clothes as well, choosing a burgundy and black with polished boots. Kili knew that the Elves had not dressed him or saw to his things. Whatever was running the track in the boy’s mind, he wasn’t feeling friendly to Elves. The trait had made itself known on the road in the Forest, now in Rivendell, Bain was much more subdued.

“What’s on your mind, laddie?” Kili asked him as he took the cloth covered sword from the bed.

“How long will we stay?” The young man didn’t turn, only watched the falls with a furrowed brow.

“Not long.” Kili smiled as he remember the expression on Lindir’s face when he showed him the bathing pools yesterday. It seems the memory of thirteen dirty Dwarves romping in their fountain had not faded yet.

“Good. It’s too peaceful.” Bain’s gaze flicked down to the walkway below then back again. He had been on edge since the Goblins in the pass.

“That is the point. Peace and tranquility. You fought well in the High Pass but rest your guard. It will be needed again when we leave.” The boy had fought well, Kili concluded, but sharp feelings here were not good.

A knock on the door opened by the disgruntled Bain revealed a pretty dark haired Elf in light blue. Unsure of the gender, Kili placed a hand over his heart in greeting. “If you will follow me please? Lord Elrond will see you.”

The walkways of Rivendell were more often than not, bridges over falls or connections to other houses. The trees here were massive, growing to look like they were higher than the valley itself. Kili shifted the weight of the sword from one arm to another with Bain following behind him by a step or two. The Balcony where they were led was unfamiliar to him, set away from the other parts of the Elven settlement in the Valley. A round table under a rounded arched dome was a true piece of artistry that Kili associated with Elves and their talent. Lord Elrond stood at the entrance, tall and graceful as he remembered.

“I welcome you Kili son of Vali, brother to the King under the Mountain and to you Bain, son of Bard King of Dale to Rivendell.” Kili and Bain bowed their heads to the Noldorin Elf who acknowledged them with a hand to his chest.

“Imladris is as beautiful as I remember and we thank you for seeing us.” Kili could feel his palms sweat as his grip tightened on the sword.

“I understand you wished to see me. How may I assist you, Prince of Erebor?” There was no smile but a kindness that etched the High Elf’s face.

“My brother sends this gift, Lord Elrond.” Kili laid the sword upon the table as he backed away, trying not to stumble. It was an awkward thing for a Dwarf in heavy boots.

Watching the Lord unwrap the sword, the young prince was stuck again by their grace. The long fingers moved elegantly, slowly. It wasn’t like the Dwarf hands, thick muscled under a dry, course lining. Why would Tauriel find such joy with him when he was nothing like what she knew?

“ _Orcrist_?” A puzzled expression lit upon the Half Elven’s face as he sought Kili’s explanation.

“When last we were here, you told Thorin that it was made in Gondolin by your kin. As a relic of your house, we would see it returned to you.” The Dwarf used a careful tone, not wanting to give the wrong impression at the beginning.

“I had heard that it was taken by Thranduil when Thorin’s company passed through Mirkwood?” He still used a neutral tone but Kili matched him with the same.

“Yes but King Thranduil gave it back when the two Kings arranged a truce before the Great Battle.” He was pleased he kept the hurt and anger from his voice. It was only the next day after the Truce that he had lost Tauriel.

“He gave it to Thorin?” The Elf asked as he pulled the sheath away to examine the blade. “Did he give all your weapons back?”

This confused Kili for he had not been there. “No, my lord, just _Orcrist_. Why?”

A smile slipped across Lord Elrond’s face as he sheathed the great sword again. “While I know there is but one in my house that might rejoice in the Goblin cleaver’s return, I think it still has work to do. Carry it and may it serve you in battle.”

He was refusing the gift? What did that mean? Kili walked to the table with leaden steps, worried that about the next part of his meeting. It was generous of the Elf Lord to offer back such a prize but now it made the rest that much harder.

“Your mother has been kind enough to send Mithril and other gems to Arwen as a Yule gift each year.” The Half Elven remarked as he poured a goblet of wine to offer to Kili and Bain . “I fear that there is not much I can give her to match so peerless a gift.”

Kili smiled at the tall Elf before he nodded to Arwen who walked not far away with attendants in tow. “Fili and I have told Amad of your generosity to us over the years when we stayed here. The gifts are our humble thanks as well as to honor the beautiful Lady of your house.”

It was a companionable silence for the most part. While Kili was unsure of the tact that might be used to extract the information of Tauriel’s disappearance, he would jump the stones necessary to that end. The Elven lord was not one for hasty conversation much as it had been Kili’s habit in a previous life. Elrond put as much thought into his actions as his words, all deliberately measured and weighed. The smooth line of his brow was not furled with angst or worry, but the radiant calm that one finds in pleasant times.

They spoke at length of matters in Dale and Erebor, mostly of which Kili had no knowledge. Much had passed his notice, he realized as he would look to Bain for answers to some questions. Bain loosened himself some, acquiring not quite so formal an air. Lord Elrond queried after his leg and promised to look and see if the long term effects for Kili might be curtailed. The anniversary was coming soon, already he had begun having the fearful dreams. He would be in pain the days before and after the dark date.

Mithrandir as the Elves called Gandalf had been in Isenguard with a trips to the Shire to visit with Bilbo. Saruman had been keeping him busy, watching Eriandor and the other lands to the west. The company burglar was in regular correspondence with Lord Elrond, even hosting his sons Elrohir and Elledan for a time. Kili smiled at the news of his friend, wondering if their quest would take him close to the Shire and the Ered Luin again. He had not been to the place of his birth since Thorin had gotten the company together. Pushing aside the thoughts for a later day, Kili noticed an Elf standing in the shadowed column there but not there.

“It must have been quite a blow to your mother, the princess Dis. Thorin was the last of her close kin.” Lord Elrond ventured as they walked now down the steps to the wide open veranda. The sun slid in the afternoon sky, Kili knew his meeting would be ending soon. “I am sure that he will be awaiting in the Halls of Mandos.”

Many had said words of his uncle over the years though none in his company. Everyone in Erebor knew the tale of that morning at the Overlook, how Thorin deep in gold sickness cut down his sister son. Unsure of what Lord Elrond knew, Kili said nothing but stole a look at Bain. Dale’s prince suddenly found the large potted tree very fascinating.

“You did not come so far to trade tales of the sad deaths of kings. Even your kin.” He must have sensed the direction of their thoughts or at least their disquiet. “You have not said yet what brings you so far from Erebor, young prince. Though, I must admit certain things change as all things do at your arrival.”  

“I come on behalf of one who I love. I am on a quest to find her.” Kili told the Elf. “I wasn’t sure if she might have made her way here, five years ago.”

Lord Elrond watched him carefully. “I will not pretend I do not know your meaning. The Silvan named Tauriel was brought to me wounded by Bilbo Baggins.”

“Bilbo!?” Kili stalked to the table in alarm. “He never said!”

“So much happened in such a small space of time. The Hobbit brought her to us and she joined our wounded caravan back to Rivendell.”

“She survived?! Is she here? I had heard that Elves might.. fade..” A clue that she still lived! At long last, he could find her since he now knew her starting point if she did not reside here already!

A tall Elf walked out of the wings in the sunlight, his long blond hair made Kili think he was the Woodland prince until he saw his face. Angular and slight with pale blue eyes, he was thinner than the pompous princeling. The Elf watched quietly until his attention was drawn to the sword at the table.

“No, Tauriel is not here. She left with my sons and as I remember traveled south.” The Half elven replied. “The Elves who told you this were from Lothlorian?”

“No, from the Greenwood. We met them on the Forest Road.” Kili replied. She had headed south, maybe to Gondor?

“Hmmm. Yes, young prince. We fade from the loss of our loved ones. When Tauriel lost the baby from the poison, I thought she would fade, so strong was her grief. Many an Elleth have succumbed or sailed under less.” There was much sympathy from the Elf Lord but Kili heard none of it. He had not gotten passed the word ‘baby’.

“Baby?” He finally crocked as his mind numbed from the shock. “Tauriel was pregnant?”

Now Lord Elrond looked surprised, taking a step forward as did the shadowy companion. “Yes, the child was of Dwarf and Elven parentage as I was led to believe and therefore your child? You have my sincere condolences, Kili son of Vali. To lose a child…. My healers and I did everything we could, children are so precious to us. I thought you knew that she carried..”

A sharp ringing began in Kili’s ears, cutting off the rest of the high Elf’s speech. He could hear nothing save the loud breaking of his heart as the pain became too awful, too much, as shock melted his reason. His eyes did not see the world where he stood, not the high Elf holding Bain away or the tall blond one standing in front of his master for protection. There was light and color but it held no meaning.

The wrath Kili felt was complete as he wretched himself away to the stone balustrade, leaving room for nothing else. It swept away all doubt and confusion, any malingering emotions which would stop him. Rage quieted him, boiling everything down to the single moment where Kili found himself standing at the edge of the balcony. The roar of the falls pushing millions of liters of water down into the valley drowned out his pain-laced screams as his nails bit into the stonework.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now you know why there was a tag for child loss and pregnancy loss. Tauriel had been pregnant that day at the Overlook. It was why she allowed herself to be taken, to protect their child. Kili didn't know and his feelings on the matter are revealed more in the coming chapters. I inserted the Fili dream between he and Kili as a feel good moment before the Rivendell scene. Fili would have backed away from Sigrid but in the end it wasn't required and he got his happily ever after.  
> Bain is coming along and has a few moments with Glorfindel that I like (the shadowy specter in the columns). Oin has some Willa time soon :o)
> 
> At the moment, I am trying to write chapter 18 with a beautiful moment between Kili and Arwen that is making me sniffle. Think I will write some happy smut to past the sniffles.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hear babies cryin'. I watch them grow.  
> They'll learn much more than I'll ever know  
> And I think to myself  
> What a wonderful world
> 
> ~Louis Armstrong - What a Wonderful World ~

 

The stool made her feel offbeat, gangly. While only a foot or so off the ground she might as well have been aback an eagle. How do the taller races endure this? Dori shuffled about her legs with his assistant, Pabbi to his side writing down all that Dori said. The dress of dark blue velvet with silver darts at the waist would be beyond words once finished, but getting it finished was taxing. Dis felt as though the sands in the hourglass were actually honey, oozing slowing and giving her no reprieve. The new gown was needed for the celebration though the date had not been fixed, despite much debate. Durin’s Day would be upon them soon but the celebration festival or what they were calling this show of unity this week, could not be within two weeks of the Erebor’s fall holiday.

The Tailor’s hall was quite lovely and entirely Dori’s domain. He controlled his Guild with a firm but considerate hand, making sure that everything ran as it should and tithes to Erebor were paid accordingly. Each Tailor’s alcove contained a stool for the patron to stand as well as a screen in a corner for privacy to change in and out of clothes. Dwarrowdams were not in the habit of baring themselves to males or being touched by them so two female assistants were on hand for that task at the ‘dams request. Thick stuffed chairs allowed for seating as the Tailor worked to ensure exactly what the customer wanted.

Pabbi would be leaving Dori soon to take his pace in the sewing rooms branching off the hall as a tailor in his own right. Dis had congratulated him heartily as the young Dwarrow blushed though she would miss his quick wit. He had worked very hard since he took residence under the mountain, from being a simple apprentice, advancing to become a very good craftsman. Most of the Guild were from the Blue Mountains though a few had come from the Blacklocks and required watching. Blacklock clan were not Dis’ favorite Dwarves.

“Dori, how much longer will this be?” Dis was becoming impatient as the Dwarrow continued to make alternations and suggestions for the style.

Whyever could she not wear simple skirts anymore was a depressing mystery. In Ered Luin, they would layer their skirts the one upon the other for warmth instead of petticoats or other such rubbish. The more colorful the better, especially the younger ‘dams reaching their maturity. If the fabric moved or twisted, it was a surprise to the watcher. A smile of nostalgia soften the Princess’ face as she remembered surprising her Stiffbeard suitor.

“It will be just as long as it has to be, Dis.” Dori fussed as he motioned to the assistant to finish. “I won’t have you outshine by any.”

“Sigrid will outshine me by her youth and beauty alone.” She reminded him gently, making him blush. “You must do all you can to see that she is resplendent. A true jewel of Erebor.”

“She will shine like the sun on Mithril, my lady. No fears now on that.” The smile he gave the ‘dam warmed her to the core. The brothers Ri had long been the sweetest of her cousins both distant and close.

When Dori was finished finally, Dis huffed a sigh of relief as she went behind a screen to change out of the unfinished dress. Dori continued to go about Sigrid’s dress and his ideas for it, though Dis found her time was getting thin. Fili had asked her to come to the council meeting this afternoon, wanting a Dwarrowdam’s voice more now than ever before. Days like this, the King’s mother missed her collector of secrets but Nori would not be back for two weeks at the earliest. The clouds that were gathering over Erebor may have condensed to a mighty storm before that time.

Dori waddled off to find the sketches he had made of Sigrid’s cloth of gold gown. If the drawings were half as good as the descriptions he was giving her, none could supplant the Queen as the most magnificent. As she finished affixing her belt, Paddi came skidding into the fitting room.

Taking his forearm, Dis stopped him from falling. “Whatever is the matter, Pabbi?”

The poor Dwarrow babbled as he began to sweat fear. “The Ladies Herja and Thrud are at the hall. Lady Herja is demanding that Uz Dorii attend her and no one else. Is he not here, Princess?”

The poor Dwarf was beside himself with anxiety which sparked Dis’ anger at the female a little higher. Lady Herja had been in the Tailor’s halls before if the state of her finery was any indication. As head of the Guild, Dori didn’t sew for anyone save the Royal family and only on special occasions so the other tailors could earn a living. Herja was beginning to overstep her bounds.

Motioning for the distressed tailor to sit on the stool, Dis replied. “I will handle this.”

Dis strode out of the alcove as a stripling hurried frantically away from the entrance, his leather apron slapping against his thick legs. He couldn’t have been more than twenty five if the jewel on his tunic was right. He was an older child by their counting yet tears streamed down his face as Herja’s voice bleated down the hall like an enraged ewe. Wiping the tears slowing, the Princess smiled at him before placing a kiss on his head. The boy blushingly smiled in return before she sent him on his way. Now she was livid.

Marching down the stonehall, other tailors and apprentices stumbled out of her way as Dis neared the entrance. It was enough that Dis had her sons to worry about, now her near daughter but a Dwarrowdam having fits was quite enough for one day. It wasn’t hard to spot the Lady as the crystals in her apple green gown caught every candle light in the receiving room.

The entrance receiving room had no roof as Smaug had destroyed it at one point or another during his tenure as Erebor’s only resident. The remaining rock had been cut away leaving it open to the second level hall. Fili had agreed with the engineers to leave it unless it posed a hazard for the look was quite pleasing. Dori had walls reworked to add arched entrances to allow privacy for waiting customers with comfortable chairs and ales to drink in leisure. Herja, in Dis opinion, didn’t deserve its comfort and she was fully prepared to have her ejected for her rudeness.

“Lady Herja.” Dis didn’t yell, her voice carried like a bass drum nevertheless.

Herja spun around, cutting off her nasty tirade at the two tailors before her. “Princess!” her voice was melting sugar when a moment before it dripped venom. “No one told me that you were here.”

A look of reproach passed to the Lady Thrud at her side as the dark haired ‘dam slinked forward with an ingratiating smile. The other Dwarrowdam, Lady Thrud daughter of Tindri, rolled her eyes at Herja before taking a seat on the bench. Her father was the second in the Mines under Bofur, so her place in Herja’s group held more prominence than might another Dwarrowdam.

“Why should anyone tell you my whereabouts?” Dis walked to the side, circling Herja as if they were in a fight pit. “It is no concern of yours.”

“My princess..” Herja’s tone was a smiling plead. “I only meant..”

The Dwarrowdam’s green skirts swept the floor as she attempted a curtsy but failed to bow her head in respect. Dis knew in that instant that time was running out and Herja would continue to cause problems under the Mountain until the Dwarrows fractured into a cold war. The ‘dam wasn’t subservient to the Princess, thinking she was above her.

“I heard your demands down the hall, Herja. If you do not understand courtesy, you will be banned from this hall.” Dis spoke slow as if to a very young stripling. “Dori is master of this Guild, you do not call him as if he were a hound to be brought to heel.”

“He is the best, Princess.” Her manner was becoming less smiles and more spiteful with each word. “He creates the most beautiful things for the Royal family. How could I not want the best to make my clothes?”

“Dori has been our friend long years, he does it out of kindness.” Dis let a wicked smile play at her lips. “Besides, you are not royalty.”

Herja moved across the room to the entry way leading back to the markets. A nasty grimace graced her lips once more. “The King’s Justice will return once he has finished with his Orc hunting, my Princess. Who knows what the future will bring?”

“It won’t bring you as my near daughter, Herja. When Kili comes back, there will be a great many changes here.” Dis laughed at the girl’s sour expression as the ‘dam flounced away.

Lady Thrud sighed long and gusting as she stood to leave as well. She had pretty face and blond curls when they weren’t drawn in a frown as they were now. The red dress looked lovely on her, highlighting her complexion and beard.

“Lady Thrud, why do you follow her?” Dis wanted to know as Thrud had a very steady disposition and high intelligence.

“There are none to oppose her, my Princess.” The look Thrud gave her was sad as the gold and glass beads clinked together as she shook her head.

No, Dis thought, not yet.

**************

The council meeting was in full swing by the time Dis arrived. Anger had fueled her determination to see the end of the plans that she and Balin had started but now she had to find a way to get rid of Herja and soon. It was the only way the Lonely Mountain would have any peace in the coming years. Herja would keep plotting and making ridiculous demands with her friends until she pushed her way into a more powerful position. The other ‘dams would fall into a more harmonious line if the head of the dragon was severed. It wasn’t an unimaginable parallel, the ‘dam had all but breathed fire at the tailors earlier.

The idea of cutting off Herja’s head had tremendous merit, it would undo too much of what the court was trying to accomplish here. Their society would never survive if they started killing the Dwarrowdams, Dis knew this for a certainty. The internal strife would tear them apart just the same. Herja needed to be neutralized, but how?

Breezing into the room, Balin and his assistant Galar, son of Ginnar were going over the last of the food store imports on the last shipment from Dale. If all went according to the plans they had implemented, Galar would take over the position of chancellor once Balin and his men left for Moria. Galar was a good Dwarf from Ered Luin, Dis had known him all his life and his people before that in Erebor. He had a sound mind to help steer the course that was before them in the years to come.

The others had taken their places at the table, Hannar, Bofur, and Oin much to Dis’ surprise. He had never been one for council meetings, quite the opposite. Oin preferred to stay in the healer halls than in a place with things that he had no real concern. Gloin wore a fierce expression as his red braids quavered in agitation. There was something on his mind and he had no patience for it.

“Amad.” Fili rose at her entrance, requiring others to do the same. The members had no problem with Dis at the meetings, believing that a female voice to the issues was a positive thing.

Dis took a seat at an open chair at the end of the table down from the others as the meeting continued. Galar continued to propose ideas for the new trade with the Heafda of the Stoor Hobbits in the Gladden Fields. They had made overtures in the past but Erebor had not been in the position to accommodate their requests in light of the rebuilding projects that had been underway. Currently with the latest estimates from the engineers, the last of the damaged halls had been repaired for habitation. Now, the submissions for trade had been placed once more from not only the Stoors but others as well. Dain had held the monopoly on steel and iron in this region for so long that his customers were willing to bargain their firstborn for a chance at trade with the Lonely Mountain.

“What does the Heafda offer us now? What does she want?” Fili asked as he pulled at his moustache braids in thought, shifting in his chair. The title of Heafda passed from Mother to oldest Daughter in the river clans, never to the men.

Galar replied, “Crafted boats and barrels of salted pork and fish to be paid quarterly. They are interested in kettles and pots with three gross of mattocks. Also, they are willing to send a dozen males every other year for ten years to be trained in the barracks.”

Fili looked at Galar for a while, still pulling at his braid. Dis wondered what he was thinking. “What is the current climate in the Anduin region?”

“Tense, as I understand it from the ravens. Orcs are still found in pockets but most of the unrest is near Fangorn.” Balin stated as he looked down at some paper before him. “I am curious why the River folk wish for this. They have Elves on both sides, should be a peaceful place for them.”

“You think they are looking to arm themselves with Dwarven weapons and training, Balin?” Fili watched the chancellor’s nod of assent before continuing. “Me too. Defensive measures are one thing, aggressive intent is another. I don’t want to get into the middle of their disputes. Do you know what their arrangement was with the Iron Court? Mattocks are their weapon of choice.”

“Only that they have traded. The exact figures and goods are not clear but I have feelers out for the information or what can be gathered at this time.” Galar scribbled notes in the margin of the paper while Balin gave Dis a secret smile. His protégé had the forethought to see beyond the obvious, a very necessary trait.

“Good, very good. We will table this agreement until the new information is available for closer scrutiny. Extend our hospitality to their delegation for the present time. Now, there is something I would like to bring up to the council.” Fili rose from his place at the head to walk to the sideboard for a tankard. He waited upon himself instead of allowing a stripling to do the work for him, something that always endeared Fili to this counsel and his people.

“I wasn’t aware of any new proposals, my king.” Balin looked around the table as he spoke, his eyes straying to Dis who merely shrugged.

“I know. This concerns my Queen.” Fili back was still to the members of the table as he took a deep draught of the brew.

Dis raised half out of her seat to look at Oin at the other end. “Has there been a new development? Is Sigrid in any danger?”

Concern and fear coated each word as she fired them down the table at her old friend. Sigrid was more than just the love of her son’s life, but also the mother of his children and the future heirs of the Kingdom. Dis had not been told of anything new that might have threatened the young Queen lately, she was regaining her strength by all reports.

“No, Amad.” Fili turned at last to face them but leaned back on the table. “The healer Wheat from Dale has been to the Mountain on several occasions to help Sigrid through this pregnancy. She will be coming once a week until Sigrid delivers but I would like for you each to consider that I ask the lady to stay here in the Mountain. I would like the healer’s advice and would appreciate her to be close at hand for any issues that could arise in the next few months.”

The Dwarrows looked at each other, then began speaking low to themselves and to their neighbors. Fili’s eyes sought his mother who could see the strain now as well as the reason for it. He’s afraid, Dis’ heart broke for her son, he’s afraid to lose her so soon. Fili loved his boys but losing Sigrid would be devastating.

“Thanu min, if I may.” Oin stood from his chair near his brother to place his horn to his ear. “I doubt the Healer Wheat will accept your very generous offer. With the new reports of sickness in the south attacking the old and the young, she will not want to be far from her people. Many rely on Mistress Wheat in Dale and surrounding farms.”

“That is disappointing, Oin. You know her better than any of us, could you not persuade her? Does she not have striplings or helpers to act in her place?” Fili looked exasperated at Oin’s admission though Dis fought hard to grin at the older Dwarf’s ruddier than normal cheeks. Was Master Oin blushing?

“Mistress Wheat has helpers though their skills are not her level. I will be happy to tender your request when she comes next week.” Oin advised, beginning to look edgy.

“No, I would preferred to get this done now. Can you ride to Dale and meet with her tomorrow?” Fili began to pace in the hall, a sure sign of his agitation. Dis snuck another look at the very uncomfortable Oin whose face was redder than his brother beard.

“I shall go, my King.”

“Good.” Fili huffed a sigh. “Anything else?”

“If I may, Thane Fili.” Gloin stood now as his older brother sat. Neither looked at each other in happiness.

“So formal, Master Gloin. What is the proposal?” Fili took a swallow of his tankard, his good humor restored at the idea of Oin’s trip tomorrow.

“I am in the process of filing the paperwork to release, Eir, daughter of Snorri from apprenticeship. I would need another before I can finished the monthly summaries, so I beg the counsel’s pardon that the information will be arriving late to you.” Gloin looked madder than a dosed cat, his whole body shook. Dis began to speak but Balin got there first.

“Why are you releasing Eir? She has done an excellent job so far and no complaints have been issued.” Balin had a confused air but Dis suspected a ruse on his part.

“It is a private matter.” Gloin ground out as he crossed his arms. “There was a difference of opinion.”

“You mean, you wanted her to marry your son, Gimli and she refused?” Dis asked innocently, not looking to see if her question hit the mark. “That difference of opinion?”

“Lady Herja assured me ..” Gloin began but Balin cut the Accounts master to the quick.

“Lady Herja does not make matches here at Erebor, Gloin. If you were led to believe that the ‘dam would allow courting by your son from another, that is your own fault. Not your apprentice’s.“ Balin’s voice was melodious, soothing where Dis wanted to split Gloin’s head open.

“It is my right to release an unworthy apprentice!” Gloin growled down the table at Balin and the others who were turning their nose up at his display.

“So it is. A Dwarrow does not come between a master and his apprentice. My king, if I may be excused, I find that since Ori has taken over the responsibility of the Archives, I am suddenly in the need of another scribe!” Balin stood up, quietly gathering his pages as Galar rushed to assist him. Dis could see Galar’s lips twitch with a suppressed grin.

“That would mean an advancement for her!” Gloin fairly roared the statement as Fili quickly drank from his cup to keep from laughing.

“Not your concern now, Accounts master.” Balin sent Gloin a grin as he sailed from the room with Galar. Dis didn’t bother to hide her laughing as Fili dismissed the counsel.

Gloin stalked from the room like an enraged bear, snarling the whole length of the room. Dis sat back as she watched him, content to prick his pride like the rest of them would. Balin had commented several times about needing another scribe with Ori so busy. Now, he had the opportunity to take one that was still in apprenticeship and had been trained by one of the most exacting masters in Erebor’s history. She had not only done well but thrived! Inconceivable.

“I can’t believe Gloin listened to her.” Fili spoke finally.

“Herja chose her target well. Eir would have said yes to him had I not convinced her otherwise, but the poor girl would have been miserable.” Dis laid her head back. “One more problem among many.”

“I don’t like how things are stirring here. Something needs to break or we will, mother.” Fili told her quietly as he lit his pipe.

“Sigrid needs a court, darling boy. She needs handmaidens who are loyal, but the pickings here are slim on the ground.” Dis finally admitted a part of their plans to her son. It concerned him too, so he needed to know. “My mother had a half dozen with two stripling pages and she wasn’t even the Queen. Sigrid needs twice that and more because this isn’t her native rock. Handmaids act as a buffer between the Queen and the rest of the mountain.”

“Is that why Dwalin is bringing one back? Sigrid asked but I had no answers for her.” Fili looked confused as he puffed on his pipe stem, like the interworkings of women were beyond his brain.

Dis rose with a smile and blew a kiss to her son. “One isn’t enough, dear son. Besides, I doubt Dwalin is bringing only one.”

**************

Lady Herja snapped and growled her way from the residences hall in the upper west side of the mountain with her circle of sparrows fluttering behind her. None of her girls dared to wear anything that could outshine Herja or reflect badly upon the Dwarrowdam if there was an outing planned. Why even today, Goll daughter of Gamil had to be sent back to change her emerald dress for it was prettier on her than Herja’s own apple green. That couldn’t be tolerated.  

It was bad enough that the Princess had come out against her in front of Dwarrows in the Tailor’s hall, the memory made Herja snarl as they continued towards the Great Gates. Those Dwarves gossiped like striplings, it was not to be bore! Everyone from the shepherds to the lowest miners would know of her dressing down before the end of the day. Lady Thrud had her small rebellions every once in a while but a sharp word or a missed invitation to something important solved that problem nicely. That Thrud had missed the Princess going to the hall as well, would have longer reaching problems if it got out that Herja wasn’t the Dwarrowdam in charge of the mountain.

Eir sobbed from her place amongst the layered females that followed the rampaging Herja, sparking a headache to thunder behind her eyes. The daughter of Snorri’s position was now eliminated as apprentice to the Accounts master or would be by the end of the week. The dumb chit was unable to see that she had made an error in her judgement when Eir had refused Gloin in courting his son. Why do such days have to happen in succession? Herja thought with disgust as she all but shoved a Dwarrow out of the way.

“But I am to be shamed, Herja!” Eir wailed as many of the milling crowds stared at her in concern which the fires of Herja’s anger even higher. “I will be released from my apprenticeship with no mark for advancement!”

“Then you should have done as you were told and accepted Gimli, son of Gloin as a suitor! This unpleasant business is of your own making?” The questing stares in their direction held sympathy for the crying ‘dam, making Herja really want to give her something to cry about. “Goll, did you have the presence of mind to make sure that the kitchens provided adequate food?”

“Yes, my lady. There was some comments about pay..” The lady Goll stammered off the last of the sentence. It was an irritating habit, Herja told herself, but bearable in light of Eir’s sniveling.

“Pay?!” Herja stopped to stare at the offender and poor target of her anger. “Why should I pay? When I marry, they will beg me for service or I will ship them off to the barracks.”

“Only royalty has that power, Herja.” Lady Thrud spoke clearly as the other ‘dams quaked under Herja’s glare. “You don’t have that title yet.”

“I will have it!” Herja growled her the light haired ‘dam. “The King’s Justice is yet unmarried.”

The ladies just stared for a moment in horror at her words, even Eir shoved a cloth over her nose and mouth. Everyone knew the story of the Prince and his Elf maid, spread far by Dain’s Dwarrows and the Prince’s own rantings in the taverns when he was deep in his beer. The same melancholy that drove him to drink would be her path to the Royal Hall. It would be no trouble to lie in wait one night when he was drunk and staggering only to find the next morning that he had taken Herja to bed. Defiling a ‘dam was a shameful occurrence, so of course, there would have to be a wedding.

Granted the plan of bedding Prince Kili might be easier than the King but why should she settle for the younger brother? The Queen’s health was precarious, everyone said from overbreeding her half caste runts. If Fili set aside his wife as the rumors Herja started in Dale claimed or she died because of her bearing, then Herja needed to be on hand to offer condolences as well as a Dwarven womb.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok.. Yes.. I left a cliffhanger and there is no Kili in the is chapter.. Kili and Fili come back in the next chapter that will be posted Tuesday morning. I am still not 100 percent on an exchange between Kili and another so instead of a double post tonight, I am doing a single for more tinkering. Kili's in rough shape and I don't want to lessen it with bad writing.
> 
> Herja is a snot, and I can't wait to do some evil upon her.. I am having way too much fun with Oin and Willa..just saying. Burin is a dear but I think he might need a hook up at some point....hmmmm
> 
> I appreciate everyone's patience with me and waiting for this chapter. But I really needed it posted now so that it flows into Fili's segment of the next chapter and Sigrid's three chapters later.


	17. Chapter 17

 

The night held no rest for him, no respite from the murky disarray of tangled thoughts. The light of the stars shown bright this evening as his leg took on a throbbing pain as it did each year at the anniversary of the Morgul wounding drew near. His wound, her wound, they were not so different. With the offending leg propped on the bannister, Kili sat at the open doors of the small balcony. He stared at the trees illuminated in silvery ligh beyond with his pipe and ale. Neither of his silent companions had been forthcoming with any solutions so he continued to bedevil them with activity, smoking his throat raw and draining the tankard dry.

The cold rage he had experienced earlier with Lord Elrond had burned itself out to a deepening grief what was so much worse. The rage he could abide but not the grief. The rage fueled his resolve, pushing him from apathy to action. The grief sucked him down into the welling dark full of dull teeth and lesser claws to feed upon what little hope he possessed.

There had been a child, his child and it had died before its first breath because of Thorin’s madness.

Had Tauriel known of the child growing inside her? Some lore suggested that Elves were a race that knew from the moment of conception, that the baby would speak to the mother in their musical language from deep inside. Had she become pregnant that first time in Bard’s cellar or the nights in Erebor? If she knew, Kili couldn’t not fault her for being quiet. In those days had he known, so would everyone else in the mountain and Dale. Fighting and his uncle bedamned! He would have toasted with ale and beer or whatever was at hand. Kili would have raised her high to his shoulder so he and brother could dance and sing until the sun broke the horizon.

It would have been a boy, Kili smiled at the thought. All Dwarves of the line of Durin tended to throw sons much easier than daughters. His own Amad had been the first daughter of the royal house in many generations. Local lore advised his Gamul Khagam had strutted the length of the mountain on the day of her birth. Fili had two sons, both towheads like himself with more to come unless the rumors proved true. Would his child have had his own dark hair or his mother’s burnished flaming red? Laying his head on the backrest of the chair, Kili knew it didn’t matter really. He was torturing himself over something that never was to be. The child was gone and whatever it could have been was gone too.

Blowing out a stream of smoke, his mind drifted lazily to that first time almost six years ago when they pledged their love and his life changed forever.

 

_The festering wound that had been a black seeping whole in his leg had been purged of its evil, now was white and pink with developing scars. The Kingsfoil was packed daily until yesterday to draw as much of the foul taint away from his body as possible. Tauriel checked the healing leg every few hours to make sure it did not gain the black striations of returning infection. He could not stop himself from touching her in those moments, it was an addiction._

_Her pale skin, hairless and cool, was as different from what he knew of Dwarves as a clever fox was from a warg. Kili wasn’t sure what she saw in him, too tall, beardless with unDwarf like habits. Each time he reached for her, her luminous smile would like up her face in a pink blush but she would never draw away. In the nights when the others slept, Tauriel would lay facing him so that she could run her hands along his shoulders and back. Always, their lips would find each other in the night, breathing in the others breath._

_Her fingers found his face unexpectantly, long and slender with callouses that matched his own. Sometimes in his hair, or at the point of his jaw where his stubble was thin. Always curious she was of him, like he was of her. Touching wasn’t allowed by Dwarf custom nor by hers if Kili understood the right of what she was saying. They seemed to be attempting courting but in a confounded manner, that made no sense to others watching. Bofur had taken to looking closely at her hair every morning as he tried to check her braids for meaning._

_Fili understood his feelings, sworn his own for the Bargeman’s daughter, Sigrid. A way had to be found for his brother to have his One and Kili to do the same. There had not been further talk of what lay ahead of them and Kili didn’t care to entertain it at present. He loved her, loved the Elf like nothing else. When she was gone from him, there was a hollow curdled feeling in his chest that evaporated like smoke at her smiling return. Fili said Tauriel was his One but Kili had guessed long before in the forest when she had killed the spiders. Such magnificent valor and beauty._

_The last day before Smaug’s destruction, the Dwarves and Bard’s family made plans to break the Bowman out of his imprisonment. They had all eaten together in the evening while Tauriel took watch outside over the lake. She had said she felt something foul on the wind earlier, something that grew but was still unseen for the moment. Fili had told him after looking at his healing wounds that they would make for the mountain after Bard was free and away from the town. Kili knew his brother was giving him time to say goodbye but also for himself. The daughter of the house was washing the dishes with Bofur but Kili could see her tense shoulders at their discussion._

_His brother did the most unexpected thing at that moment. He gave the brunette a clip from an inside pocket, a gold clasp with a delicate rune etched on the face. “You will need this, brother. For later.”_

_Fili turned away from Kili’s questioning face with a smile of his own. His clips had fallen out of his braids long ago, never staying tidy like Fili’s or any other of his kin. The mild ache he had been feeling in his leg was eclipsed by the understanding of the clip’s purpose. It was for a courting braid. Fili was giving his blessing in the place of Thorin._

_They had made their way down to the cellar once Tauriel had come inside later. The elements had no effect on her, a blessing of her Elven constitution. She never complained about anything to the others, taking it all in stoic stride. There were times when it was just the two of them, when Tauriel was relaxed away from prying eyes that her happy nature would shine through the mask she wore. Smiles and humor she gifted to him alone._

_“Fili wants to try for the mountain tomorrow.” Kili took a seat on the crate before her as she did the same. The moon’s radiance fell upon her creamy cheek purer than her starlight. “He wants to break Bard out of jail then row out to Erebor in the darkness.”_

_“They are your people.” Her reply was soft as Tauriel turned to look at the wall. “You must go with them.”_

_“Come with me!” It was sudden and foolhardy but he didn’t care. He took her hand in his. “I know how I feel and I’m not afraid!”_

_The desire for Tauriel and know her completely had increased lately, it was harder to control some days. A light caress on the hand, or elbow or if he was feeling brave, a arching touch along her back if he thought no one else saw. The pressure in his body increased in her absence like the wound in his leg but in his chest. Harsh grinding sensation dug at his thoughts like his skin was graded away, it made his hair stand up all over his body. He couldn’t tell his brother about those feelings, wouldn’t know where to begin._

_Tauriel withdrew from him, taking her hand as well as his breath to walk to the steps. The anguish of their parting hurt him, Kili knew he would never bear it. “I can’t, Kili. There is no place for me there.”_

_“Amralime.” He begged as he followed her. “Do not leave me.”_

_She looked at him quietly as the tears glistened in her eyes. “I do not know what that means.”_

_It was only here, away from the others that he saw everything she was. The tears, the joy, her anger when he did something dumb like trying to leave before he was healed. The Elven pride that held their race in check, Tauriel cast it aside to open her heart fully to him. She loved him, he was sure of it._

_Kili took her hand in his before turning it over to kiss the palm with a smile. “I think you do.”_

_The tears fell in earnest, sliding down her cheeks. “We say, A’maelamin.”_

_He pulled her from the steps into his arms, she was a head taller than he. Laying his ear against her chest, her heartbeat soothed him, giving him the determination needed. “I will love you always, until my last breath.”_

_Her gasp caught in her throat, as her fingers tightened at his back. He could feel her lips brushing at his head as he held her. “Those words have meaning to Elves, Kili. Please be very sure of them.”_

_“Others might find me reckless but I shall not be with my words. I stand by them. Tauriel of the Greenwood, I will love you always. You and no other forever.” There would be no other, he would love her even after he turned to stone to await the world’s remaking._

_“You and no other.” She agreed, brushing the hair from his forehead. “I will love you all the days of my life until death finds me.”_

_It was soft at first, their kissing. The taste of her tears on his lips what had been in sadness now held joy. He gave his pledge and took hers as well. The hardest part was over in his thinking, the rest would come in time. Taking her hand, he led her to pallet sit with him. She took off her belt and long coat, laying her swords and knives within reach. Kili had not worn his weapons in days so watching her disarm affected him in a profoundly that his own were nowhere in the cellar. It was disconcerting to think he could be so forgetful and lax._

_Tauriel would not be like the ‘dams he had known in his life. She would never want to be cloistered and petted, loving her air and starlight as she did. What if he built them a cabin at the tree line or took one of the abandoned houses in Dale? It wouldn’t be the Mountain but he didn’t care where they were as long as she was with him._

_Tauriel kissed him again but this time the thoughts of their life had him muddled. When he would have pulled back in the past, the sudden yearning for more compelled him forward and he answered. Here in this space, no chaperones stood in the wings to growl at him for the liberties he was taking. She stiffened only a moment but the heated caress of his hands on her long legs charmed the Elf completely. The rippling eagerness in his body was confusing at first, making him shaky with unexpressed feelings._

_Delicious currents buzzed from his loins to hone in where ever she touched as he gasped her name. “Tauriel, I think this is.. I think this is what it means to want to be with your One.”_

_A smell of musk permeated the air as Tauriel drew him into her arms. Her eyes watched him closely, tracing each feature to commit it to memory. There is no fear in her, only love as she smiled. The kiss she give him was blazing hot, but her hands on his shoulders were warm and sweet. Tender touches along his neck and lobes were hypnotic, leaving him dazed. This is what Fili meant about the yearning feeling, Kili realized as he met her passion with his own. It becomes less after you seal your pledge, to give yourself over to she who loves you most._

_“I belong to you as you belong to me. If I am your One, then we are one.” She whispered the words along his cheek before kissing his lips languidly again._

_Full of need tempered with fear, Kili kissed her neck then nibbled at her earlobe. Tauriel gasped, even more when his fingers traced the delicate tips of her ears. Her kisses took a frantic edge when he gathered her close to lay with him on the bedding. His lips and fingers trailed her body, mapping her responses to each touch before continuing to explore her terrain. Her lips on his body, his hands at the hollows of her waist. Clothes were peeled away in layers to open themselves for discovery, the one to the other._

_He learned about the sensitivity of her ears and breasts._

_She learned about the hunger of his gaze._

_Kili found that he enjoyed watching. He coveted her sighs, craved her gasps of passion. He watched her face was he stroked roughed hands down her naked body, smiling as she shuddered with desire. He needed her to feel as he did, wanted her to feel the joy of their love as well as its pleasure. He buried his face between her breasts, kissing one then the other. Her fingers wound themselves in his hair, holding him tight._

_“We do not have to do more, ghivashel.” Though Kili could feel his length hard and eager at her thigh, it was her choice. “I am content to lay here with you.”_

_Her eyes were sparking gems as she kissed him. “I would have all of you, Meleth nin. My love, my body, heart and soul are yours.”_

_Head spinning, Kili spread her legs with shaking hands to settle between them. He laid his head on her chest with a groan. “I am not worthy of you, but I love you. My life is yours to command. If we be parted, I shall wander this world searching, because I will never be able to live without you.”_

_He watched her now again as he slid himself within her, stretching her slowly as Tauriel offered her maiden’s patent. Her discomfort at first entry frightened him but then her pleasure when it was over made him weep. The warm wet of her body unmanned him, making Kili bear down and dig deep for control that slipped in and out of his grasp due to her hands on his body._

_Tauriel was so shy at the beginning, touching slowly but then demanding all of him. The thrusts were measured as he embraced her, pulling her close to him. She accepted it, locking her longer legs around his body so there was no separation. Soon her sighs became groans that graduated to cries. Tauriel was fiercely stunning in her ecstasy, flaming threads lashing on the blankets like a forest fire burning up the night. When he felt her body release its pleasure, Kili sought his own._

_They lay in the circle of each other, warm and close as their hearts forged together as one. Kili murmured endearments in Khudzul against her crimson head, combing the locks with course fingers. The hungers that roared at him now ebbed to the same gentle degree as the oceans near the Gulf of Lune would in the evenings. Like the mercurial waters, the tides of his desires rolled in different areas of his skin leaving prickled flesh in their wake. What their destiny would being in the morning neither cared that night nor was it spoken. Love cocooned them in that cellar, fastening their lives together in chains stronger than Dwarven Iron._

 

Tears for what he had missed these long years wet his tunic collar, even his ale had taken the salt flavor. There had been other nights in Erebor, nights were they had loved. His passion for her and hers for him in turn was like nothing he could have expected. It was a time out of time, separate from the destruction all around them. Men of Dale marching on Erebor, Thorin’s descent into madness. Dain’s arrival and insulting postures. It was their world in that room away from the rest of the hate and anger. Those shared moments no matter how few had branded themselves in his mind, a testement of what he had and then was stolen.

Now there was an even deeper loss to be bore.

Kili could not go back there, back to Erebor. Not for Fili or his Amad, nor any who called him kin. The Lonely Mountain had taken so much from them all in one way or another that he couldn’t bear the idea of living in that tomb of stone now. All of the Dwarves who had left the Blue Mountains as part of Thorin’s company had all known the risks of the journey, no one person’s life was valued more than others. The bonds that held them together as a company, had bound them together as kin of a different sort. Kili knew in his broken heart that none of those Dwarrows would have asked him to sacrifice his child.

Thorin had lost his sanity and his reason, the very picture of what had been whispered of his grandfather, Thror. His passionate attachment had not been to the gentle hobbit at his side who by all accounts had defended Thorin until the very last during the Great Battle. No, he had cleaved to a mound of gold as well as to an uncaring rock. Kili was sickened at those memories.

He had loved the uncle who raised him in Ered Luin, not the man with the wild eyes and a crazed air. The need for the Arkenstone had driven him further than the limits of his mind could endure. Dwalin told Thorin, he knew not himself that Thorin could not see what he had become. Their King’s desperation had become all too apparent after they had escaped the Mirkwood jails, determined to leave Kili as he raced for his legacy in a dragon infested mountain.

“She wore her betrothal braids with pride.” A voice floated from the doorway, staring Kili out of his thoughts. “It caused quite a stir in the weeks after.”

The Lord of Rivendell stood half inside the room. It was his home, Kili owed his welcome to the high Elf’s largess, yet Elrond’s face showed concern and care. The Elf had been worried about him, seeking him out for that reason. Setting his pipe aside and his tankard, he faced the taller visitor quietly. Kili wasn’t sure what to say to him, confused as he was with old pain and bitter memories. He nodded to him but bowed his head, not wishing for his tears to show.

“I came to you tonight once I saw you were unable to find your rest. There is much I wish to do to aid you in your grief, young Kili. My responsibility did not end once she left us, nor does my desire to help you.” The lord watched with his quiet demeanor. “It was Gandalf who mentioned your name and possible involvement with the elleth. It confused us that she wore not the silver or gold rings which would signify a bond of betrothal or marriage.”

Kili shook his head, unable to process what he was being told. “We never spoke of rings. It took me hours to teach her the braids. Was she supposed to get rings?” Kili unstuck his tongue to finally ask, to make an indication that he had been unaware.

Did this mean they were not married in her eyes? Did she not want that kind of commitment to him? Kili could have slapped himself for his folly, Lord Elrond had just told him of her pride in the braids she wore before the Elves here. There had been such a rush to get to the mountain back then, to find this uncle. Once inside after seeing the company alive, the two of them had shut themselves away in a vacant hall from the others, a honeymoon of sorts. It was the happiest time of his life to just be with her. The things they had spoken had been their lives before they had met and what they had wished for now that they had found each other. But never of rings and Elven customs.

“It is tradition that silver rings proclaim betrothal, then a year later they are exchanged for gold. If the betrothal is broken, the rings are removed and melted down. It is to prevent them from being used again with another couple. Tauriel wore Dwarf braids but not a ring, some assumed she had changed her allegiance to the Dwarrows and abjured our race though I know that to be untrue.” The Lord made no motion to continue, only quietly staring.

“I made a butchery of our courting rituals, not to mention your own. The disgrace I have brought to my family will be satisfied upon my honor as a member of the Royal Line of Durin. There is much I still don’t know about your customs. I would like to learn as I would not see my lady shamed before her people.” The words were simple but heartfelt. He had no memory if the Mirkwood Elves had looked to his fingers for a ring though their confusion made more sense in light of what the high Elf had told him.

“Take your rest this night and come to me tomorrow. We will discuss these things in more detail, Prince of Erebor.” The quiet nobility served the Elf as he took his leave, making Kili feel shabby in comparison. “Know this master Dwarf, I do not think you could ever shame your lady. The decisions she made however light they may seem to others, were justified in her love for you.”

He understood, this Elf of Imladris, he understood loss. Mayhap not the loss of a child but it was said his wife had taken a ship to Valinor in the ages past, leaving behind her family. Lord Elrond had lost his love as Kili had lost his.  Grief was too near, too fresh for Kili to think much past it. The pain of Tauriel’s disappearance had never left him, breaking his heart at the loss. This Elf of Imladris, Lord of Rivendell who knew so much of what was to come would teach him how to honor the One who held his heart.

*************************

It was late indeed as Fili crawled into bed with his wife. Sigrid had waited for him as long as she dared but sleep had overcome her at last. Pulling her into his arms, the Dwarf ran a roughen finger down the length of her nose. One of the striplings, Fili found he couldn’t remember their names, had taken a bed in the children’s room to stay close in the night. She had not been pleased with the development but had agreed only until after the baby was born and she could get back to her normal routine.

Sigrid shifted, snuggling closer to him in the darkness. Fili smiled as she wiggled closer into his embrace. It was these nights he loved, not only their physical relationship but act of just lying together. Feeling another’s heartbeat and their breath on your cheek, the love that followed from each other. No one had ever given him so much of themselves save his brother.

“You are staying away too often, my love. I do not like sleeping alone.” Sigrid’s grip on his back tightened as she bit lightly on his neck, giving him start. “I do not share well with others.”

Fili chuckled, rubbing her gown until it slide up to her thighs. “Then you should not have married a king, kurdu min.”

“You will not change my mind by pulling up my gown.” Her reply was a little more breathless than normal as his hands made contact with the bare flesh of her bottom. “I would have words with you, my love.”

“And I would rather pull up your gown than have words, my love.” He kissed along her chin tracing his tongue down the long column of her throat, tugging forth a soft whine from her. “I think you would rather I take off your gown too.”

“The words can wait, husband.” Sigrid grasped his braids in her desire, yanking his mouth to hers. His answering growl at her fervor echoed in the room as he tore at her shift in pieces.

Later when the harshest points of their ardor had cooled, Fili marveled that Sigrid had loved him back. Kissing her sweat soaked brow to take her in his embrace once more, his life would be dark and dreary had she refused him. He would have pined for her from afar, never knowing how truly beautiful love returned could be.

Fili had learned about loving another by watching his parents before his father was killed. His father had been his mother’s One and the love had consumed them. Stiffbeards, Blacklocks, Firebeards, any Dwarrows but all the same in that respect. When fortune gifts you with your One, your life is for them. The passion you feel is always for them. It is the kind of love that breaks you apart but builds something entirely new in its place. Something better.

“You are thinking too hard. I must not be enough for you anymore.” Sigrid snarked at him as she laced her fingers with his over her rounding belly, her back to his front.

Her body was changing as the days passed into weeks, their child growing under her skin. Sigrid had whispered that she hoped for a daughter this time. A girl child with her father’s smile and her aunt Tilda’s voice. Fili just hoped for a child that lived and was happy. He cared not if it was a girl or a boy.

“I believe that I am not enough for you, kurdu min. I don’t have your goodness.” Fili rubbed his face in the long golden trees before him. The fragrance that greeted him was a flowery smell, unique to Sigrid that he loved.

“Fili, there is talk that you would have a Dwarf Queen.” Sigrid wasn’t tense or angry as she spoke the words, only resigned. Fili could feel his anger spike at the thought of it, baring his teeth.

“No! I have heard these rumors, but I know not who spreads them. They are untrue. You are my Queen, only you.” Fear clogged his throat as he hugged her close. No, he could not lose her. “Amad has a plan for some of the problems. She has not told me all but I trust her.”

“Herja.” Sigrid exhaled the name, causing her husband to tense even further. She rubbed her hands along his thickly muscled forearms in a calming pattern.

“Do not say her name here. This is our space, mine and yours.” It had always been thus, these rooms were his haven from the rest of the world. Fili refused to let go of it now.

“It came to me today that a ‘dam was seen walking behind her, crying most piteously while she sneered at the poor girl. Eiren? I think her name was.” Sigrid turned to face him as he switched his hold on her body. “I don’t understand.”

“Eir. The Dwarrowdam’s name is Eir. She was released from her apprenticeship by Gloin but Balin will submit the paperwork so that she is transferred to him.” Fili kissed her slowly. “There is a happy ending.”

Kissing him back, Sigrid asked. “Why was she released? Was she bad at her job?”

“No. Herja pushed for Eir to marry Gimli by talking to Gloin. Eir refused, due to lack of interest.” Fili was tired of the subject of Herja, much more interested in the skin behind his wife’s ear.

It was a distraction, for them both. He was always wild for the taste of her, of any part that was close. Touching wasn’t always enough for those held in the thrall of their One’s presence. Sometimes more was needed. It was the reason chaperones were part of the Dwarf courting rituals, to keep the two participants in check. Fili had found that even after years of their marriage, the urge for his love had not dimmed. Why ever he had thought Kili’s might was a mystery.

“hmmm. That’s nice. So, Herja tried to get a friend married into the Line of Durin.” Sigrid nibbled on Fili’s ear.

When he began to curl his thick fingers between Sigrid legs, she gasped once more to bury her face in his thick hair. Fili forgot about Dwarrowdams and apprentices, Kings and their Kingdoms. Nothing mattered anymore except the volume of his love’s pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not happy but it is better than it was..Dear Nanoute gave me the idea and I thought, Why Not....:o)
> 
> All comments are welcome, I want to hear if there are mistakes or if the storyline is just screwy :o)


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You must remember this  
> A kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh.  
> The fundamental things apply  
> As time goes by.
> 
> And when two lovers woo  
> They still say, "I love you."  
> On that you can rely  
> No matter what the future brings  
> As time goes by.
> 
> From Casablanca 1942 'As time goes by"

Oin tried his best not to feel grumpy as he checked his patients in the Healing hall. His head felt like someone had stuffed a beehive into it as the hangover tainted his mood. Bombur had pressed mugs then tankards of what he called ‘Liquid Courage’ upon him last night as Bofur began singing songs of women with sunny hair and beards. Oin had tucked his trumpet into a deep pocket after the second verse of the benefits of swimming with golden fleeced women. The Dwarf needed to learn new songs!

He had no real indication that Burin had been telling tales to the rest of the company but the runt had been sniggering at him lately. If he had not put a hand into the Dwarrow raising, Oin was sure to have clunked him over the head by now. It could have been Burin gossiping or Bofur’s songs might have been just a coincidence. Nevertheless, Oin was unhappy and very out of sorts when his brother arrived still in a snit.

“Balin has filed the paperwork for that ‘dam!” There was no greeting, or comments about Oin’s morning nor even a tankard. Just Gloin and his petty mood.

“You are being a right bastard, you are.” Oin snapped his younger brother, almost smiling since his ire found a likely target. “If I wasn’t the oldest, I swear before Mahal that you were born on the wrong side of the blanket!”

Gloin huffed, blowing up like a cuttlefish. “How can you spit such nastiness to me!”

“With a smile if you prefer it. That Dwarrowdam took everything you could throw at her with nary a complaint except your son’s suit. That is no fault of hers!” Gimli was a good lad, Oin knew but he probably wasn’t in favor of the match either.

Ignoring his brother, Oin spied a stripling snacking on bread in the corner. If he had not known that the child had been eating not an hour afore, Oin would have said nothing. As it was…

“Bring that here, NOW!” The stripling scurried to obey, handing over the loaf. “Have the bedpans been dumped? Good, you are with the Queen today. Snap to it.” The child ran out of the hall at Oin’s thunderous expression and Gloin’s look of distaste.

“Bedpans? What a shitty job.” Gloin chuckled at his own joke while Oin glowered, munching on the bread the stripling no doubt filched from the kitchens. “What will you do today?”

“I am going to Dale to meet with the Healer Wheat.” Taking a dram would be helpful before riding to Dale, Oin decided. A bit of hair of the warg that bit you.

Walking away from his brother with a sincere hope that he catch on that his presence wasn’t wanted, Oin walked to the sideboard to pour some stronger brew than he normally drank. Each keg was labeled by the maker, Bombur’s was stronger than most. He poured a bit of Elvish wine just to make it interesting.

“More outsiders in the Mountain. I can’t see why this healer is better than you.” Glorin groused, moving in Oin’s wake. He seemed determined to let his mood push Oin that much further.

“She is an excellent healer, plus she understands Dwarves better than many.” She had made efforts to learn from Oin on her last visits, asking questions of what he thought and procedures that he had practiced. Few in Oin’s life had cared to inquire about the general health of Dwarves in such a manner.

The old healer was at the end of his mood when Burin walked in with a teasing grin. He had been on hand last night, passing along more of the brews than had been needed. Oin felt the need to beat the young Dwarf for his insolence but that would cause Gloin to ask questions that were unwanted. Then he would never leave, causing Oin to consider fratricide.

“Young Stripling!” Gloin chortled merrily, clapping the lad on the back. “Where are you off today?”

Burin gave a smile to his once guardian, bracing a hand on the wall to steady himself thanks to Gloin’s enthusiasm. “I go with Uz Oini to the village.”

“Ah well. Off with you two.” Gloin glowered at his brother, striding to the door. ”Oin, I will see you upon you return. Hopefully, your mood will have improved.”

The redheaded Dwarf missed the killing look his brother sent him as he closed the door. Striplings arrived in short order with food for the patients in the hall, many were healed enough to be released today. Thekk, son of Tindri, Oin decided, would be left in charge during his absence. Surprisingly intelligent, Thekk was a deft hand at stitching wounds. Hall gossip had passed to Oin that he was responsible for his sister, Thrud’s apparel.

“Uz Oini.” Burin smiled at him. “Do you think your mood will be sweet or sour upon your return from seeing the healer?”

Oin felt his body awaken at thoughts of Healer Wheat. There had been a strong tumescent thirst sometimes in the night when sleep failed to find him. Ideas of her warm body and strong fingers against his own as she challenged him with opinions and guileless smiles.

“I think you are in a better mood already, Uz Oini.” Burin’s laughter cut into his daydreams as a flush road high on his cheeks.

“Get you gone! I can find my way to Dale and back without assistance.” Oin’s words were biting to the Dwarrow he had raised before barking orders to Thekk who looked askance at Burin. The bane of Oin’s humors continued to laugh openly.

“No, No! I must ensure that you are not snared by the wily female and kept as her pet.” Burin ducked as Oin threw a pan at him, laughing like a child as he ran for the door. “I will have the ponies ready in half an hour!”

Oin grumbled to himself, gathering a few supplies should he need them for the short trip. Walking back to his quarters at the end of the hall, Oin issued orders to the head of the striplings to make sure their ward across the hall from the infirmary was cleaned for inspection later. His room was simple, unadorned with no clutter. Oin grabbed his sword, knife and staff from the wall rack by the bed as well as his brown cloak. The days were getting shorter and the wind had teeth as winter would freeze them soon enough. His old Dwarf bones took the seasonal change in stride but too many winters gnawed at their resistance to deep cold. Now, he banked the fires a little higher in the evenings than was his wont in Ered Luin.

Taking in his appearance as he passed small mirror by the wash bash, Oin took the time to smooth the braids that looped from his chin. The clips that held them in place felt a bit loose so he adjusted them once more. Not sure if it was necessary, Oin ran a comb through the top of his head, quickly plaiting the hair into a single ‘bachelor’ braid across the crown. The ties at the end where his own, though functional instead of decorative. A bachelor braid signified that the Dwarf was approachable to others, that he would accept interested inquiries. It was a polite gesture, reducing the possibility of hurt feelings or embarrassment.

Erebor was teaming with Dwarves as was the usual on Market days. Unlike Thorin’s hall in Ered Luin or other Dwarf Kingdoms, Erebor allowed the merchants inside to trade as well as buy. Oin passed the Stoor Hobbits that he had heard mentioned in council chambers, stare open mouthed at the goods being moved inside to the Market hall. Had he the forethought he might have smiled at their wonder.

Burin stood outside with the ponies, the idiot grin still in place. When he had been a stripling, Oin had the concern that he might be simple in the head when Burin flashed that smile. Now as an adult Dwarf, he had learned that grin heralded the arrival of a wicked humor.

“Fair itching to be gone, Uz Oini?” Burin asked him as he handed the reins to Oin, before mounting himself. He snorted at the braid at the top of Oin’s head, covering his own with a helm.

“We failed you, lad. This much is plain. You use a title of respect, yet you mock me like I have no sense in my head to understand your jeering.” Oin groused at the younger Dwarf who guffawed in good humor.

“I merely wish that yon healer either put you out of your misery or bring you back to life.” The youngster kept pace beside Oin, refusing to allow companionable silence much to the old Dwarf’s chagrin.

The one-sided banter continued until Oin had enough, pushing the pony to a faster clip. Burin snickered that Oin was getting anxious to see the tall female to push his mount with so little disregard. The animal like his rider had some age upon him. Surefooted than most in the stable, the gelding was known to pick a solid path. The Overlook had passed them long before Oin realized this fact, his mind still swirling Burin’s remarks. The sun shone brightly upon crisp rocks, dancing across the embedded mica. The encroaching greens of the meadow ate at the starkness as surely as the sheep would eat the verge given an opportunity.

The city came into sight all at once as they rounded the last hillock. It would be quite in the streets as most of its citizens would have gone to the Erebor for trading and buying as the last of Market days came with the advent of winter. The flowers in many window boxes cast brown shadows against the creamy walls thanks to the early frosts of late. The kitchen gardens would not be completely harvested yet so many of the locals had taken to leaving small fires in the plots to keep the plants warm in the nights.

The Healer’s house was close the center of town and the meeting hall. In times past, the hall could be used as both an infirmary and headquarters for defense. The Dwarven Windlance had been atop its roof, in hope that it might never be used. Girion had tried his best, but in the end he had failed. The speculation of what might have happened if Girion had stuck true had weighed on Oin’s mind from time to time though none so much as the other members, like Dwalin and Thorin.

Unable to recover the Windlance from Laketown, a new one sat upon the top of the Hall. The deathly spire could count racks and racks of Black Arrows at its base with more held in reserve if needed. Two of the deadly weapons had also been made but hidden at the Gates of Erebor. When news of the Smaug’s death had spread, Dwarves and Men both feared that that another dragon would descend upon them, thinking to take the hoard for their own. Fili had surmised that a Windlance might kill a dragon but it would also do battle against the Trolls should the Orcs drive them back to Erebor.

Navigating the streets was a simple endeavor with only a few children out to scamper in and around their path. Burin laughed good naturally at a few, mocked scowled at others. The reputation of Dwarves was vastly different here in Dale than might be heard in other towns of Men. Dwarves were thought greedy, a grasping lot that would bargain down to the price of nails in a pony’s shoe. But not here, King Fili had shouldered beside them all to help repair the town in the same respect that they had worked to trade with the Mountain. It meant so much to so many here to see their royals breaking stone or scrubbing the wash by the stream.

A boy, who Oin knew by name of Ottar, sat on a bench by the door. He was busily snapping beans in a large bucket between his feet with another bucket sitting beside him full of unhusked corn. The people of Dale often brought Mistress Wheat food and crafted things in place of money for necessary tonics and healing herbs. Bartering was acceptable to Dwarves but Oin thought that she did some services without payment. He worried that she might be going without necessities of her own while desperately trying to help others.

Ottar gave him a gap toothed smile and a nod in greeting. “The Mistress is around back, Master Dwarf.”

Oin and Burin dismounted, tying their ponies to a rail near the separating fence. Healer Wheat had taken a large house with a good sized back lawn to accommodate patients who might be staying with her. It had come to him that she had a husband at a point in her life but no children of the union. The two helpers she had now were orphans of the war that she mothered like a Dwarrowdam might, with discipline tempered with love.

Opening the back gate, with the annoying Burin trailing on his heels, Oin could see a few people had arrived requesting treatment. Mistress Wheat was standing by a sturdy table covered with bottles of different sizes and color, draped in brownish gray smock with deep pockets, her golden hair tucked into a white kerchief. An older boy and small girl chased another boy in a corner near the house, their laughter grabbing the Dwarves’ attention. A heavily pregnant young woman took a stuffed leather pouch from the Healer, handing her a few coins in turn. An older man, stooped and bent over a cane, rubbed his lower back with closed eyes. Obviously the weather wasn’t as kind to old Men as it was to old Dwarrows.

Mistress Wheat looked up from the pregnant woman to grin widely at him. The more he saw her of late the less prepared was he when she gave him such a look of happiness. Oin felt rooted in the grass beneath his boots, stunned at the change a few muscles can make in a person’s expression or how a smile from her affected him. She was his sun and he bloomed for her alone.

“I retract my earlier statement about you becoming her love slave. Thane Fili should be concerned about you keeping her hoarded up in your rooms, only letting the Lady out on special occasions.” Burin snickered close enough so Oin could hear him without assistance. The older Dwarf swatted him with the end of his staff, secretly pleased at Burin’s yelp of pain.

The Healer gave him a disapproving shake of her head, having seem him smack the Dwarf behind him. But her eyes twinkled in mischief so she wasn’t but so angry with him. Oin watched her help the elderly man onto a stool so that she might examine his back. Lifting up the shirt, the Dwarrow could see the gnarled ridges of the Man’s spine as old age had twisted him into a hooking posture. Taking a bottle from the table, she spoke low to the Man as she systematically rubbed its contents into his skin.

“Uz Oini?”

Burin’s tone drew Oin away from the healer and her patient to the Dwarrow who pointed to the children playing. “She has a beard, Uz Oini. Is that a young ‘dam?”

Oin looked to the little girl who ran from her playmates in laughing abandon. All three children were dark of hair but what he had thought was dirt at a glance he realized now was curly hair. The little girl had a beard growing but was older than Prince Fian. Dwarf children at Fian’s age were still babies, unable to do more than crawl. The Royal children had teeth already though not many. It amazed so many of the differences between Dwarven children and children of Men. That the Royal bairns would be taller was without doubt but what else had been introduced into the Line of Durin?

“I believe she had a Dwarf parent.” Oin said carefully, muddling through the mental explanations of what he knew layered into what he was seeing. “Some women here in Dale have given birth to biracial babies.”

Burin studied the child for a moment as Oin waited to see what he would say. The Dwarrow was more tolerate than most of the Dwarves, still young by their counting at ninety two. Burin’s life in Ered Luin had not been soft, learning to work at young age at Gloin’s behest. But the villages of Men where all Dwarrows had toiled at different points in their life, had not allowed for their women to consort with Dwarves in a manner that would introduce children into the society. Dale had no such reservations, obviously. Burin for all of his teasing may not have actually considered that there was the possibility of a Dwarf and a daughter of Men coming together in such a fashion outside of the Royal couple.

“Good day, masters.” Willa’s voice chimed in his ear, close to the point of her breath skittered across his cheek. “How might I assist such earnest Dwarrows as yourselves?”

The two Dwarves jumped apart at her sudden arrival, neither expecting her to be right beside them. Burin bowed his head in greeting but still watched the young girl in puzzlement. Healer Wheat spoke to them both but she stared at Oin as he flushed brighter than a ripe tomato. If possible her grin became wider.

Oin cleared his throat before addressing her. “My King would like to tender an invitation for you to come stay at the Lonely Mountain while the Queen experiences her bearing.”

“Impossible. I have too many here that need help to pack up and leave.” The healer stepped to the side as a mother and two more children came through the side gate.

“He would be able to pay, Mistress. The Queen is most dear to us.” Burin spoke before Oin could stop him, raising the Healer’s ire.

“How do you plant gold, Master Dwarf? It can’t be eaten and some cases gold causes more problems than it solves. We would be better off with seeds and plant clippings.” She huffed at the Dwarf behind him, turning away to welcome the new patients. Oin knocked Burin the knee with his staff this time, a sharp jab to remember his place in this discussion.

Oin followed her, smiling and nodding to the mother and her grinning toddler who was passed to Mistress Wheat. “I just ask that you consider it. Please. He is very worried about her.”

The healer looked over her shoulder at him as she gave the child back to his mother. Walking to him, Oin had an overwhelming urge to run out of the gate at her bold expression but his feet failed him utterly. Once she was near, the Healer leaned close to him, entirely too close for Oin’s peace of mind. An idle finger stroked the swath of moustache hair that joined his loop braid, journeying into the individual parts of the plat itself.

Oin couldn’t move, barely breathe. Her touch had seized control of his body, tightening his bones but swelling his muscles in rapture. Just a finger commanded him, bending him like a young sapling. He just wanted it to go on and on, the unending feel of her hands upon his hair. Burin strangled a cough when he saw the Healer touch Oin’s braid, knowing how inappropriate it was.

“I will consider the King’s request under one condition, Master Oin.” Her brown eyes were lively as she watched him, roped as he was in tangles of quivering want. “You have to address me by my first name.”

“Blackmail.” Oin wheezed, fighting the urge to sag into her fingers as they travelled his jaw.

“Just so.”

At last, he breathed. “ _Willa_!”

**************

Kili washed with deliberation. Behind the ears, between the stubby toes, even going so far as to scrub his armpits twice. The impression he wanted to convey was very important, more so than what had transpired yesterday in that disastrous meeting. He felt no embarrassment at his breakdown, it had been too much of shock for him to stay whole in that moment. It was his hope that Lord Elrond would forgive him the lapse and grant his request.

The bathing rooms in this house were not as lavish as what could be believed of Elves. Probably more in line with what was expected from Men or other races. He could not help but notice on their last trip to the valley that certain elements were housed in different areas of Rivendell. Most of the Men who came and went were near him well away from the main house and the healing halls. Their barracks rooms had been above a stable, though that had not bothered them at all. The only thing that had irritated the company was the lack of meat.

Drying himself, he found a tall mirror to one side that gave him an excellent view of himself. Kili realized as he stared that his hair was growing again. He had cut his hair in mourning, now he wanted to shave it clean. He had no family here to ask so the task fell to him alone. At Erebor, he had scissors that he used with regularly, hacking his hair if grew past his ears. Looking at himself in profile, his beard he would trim closer. Braids, he could consider letting his hair grow again when he found Tauriel.

Finding the shears necessary, Kili dressed himself in pants before walking out to the wide landing beyond the door. The forests stretched endlessly up the hillside with trails in the wood for riders. It would not do for him to make more of a mess than the company did in the fountain. Quickly without the aid of a mirror, he snipped and cut as much as he could reach. He tossed the hunks of hair over the rail to be carried by the breeze. Threading his thick fingers through his hair, Kili cut again and again. More than once the blade, grazed his scalp with a sting. With his mind on other paths, he did not hear the Elf maid’s approach until she coughed.

Kili looked sharply over his shoulder at the tall dark Elf maid at his elbow. He was thankful, so thankful he had not lunged with the shears at being startled. “Lady Arwen.”

She smiled serenely, bowing in her light blue gown as he bowed to her. “Good morning, Prince Kili. I wandered at who was decorating the grounds with fluffy hair.”

“My lady, forgive me. I did not mean to befoul. I thought that nature would take it away.” Arwen was a moonlike beauty, distant and eternal. Tauriel had been passionate fire with heated motion, proof that one Elf was never as good as another.

Excusing himself, Kili rushed inside to grab his town and shirt. He had thought himself alone with no consequence to exposing his barrel chest to the trees. However in the presence of a lady and Lord Elrond’s daughter at that, he had best make himself as presentable as he could. The black tunic was still serviceable despite its wearing yesterday. Kili returned to find her still on the landing, smiling at him serenely.

“So it will. May I help? Your cuttings are rather patchy.” She took a step forward while Kili took a step backwards.

It was an awkward dance but necessary. Dwarf hair was a pride to its wearer, the braids and bead signified more than just lineage. The lady was of good heart to ask to help him but it had to be refused. But politely, always politely.

Kili shook his head. “I appreciate your offering, my lady. But only family or a spouse may cut a Dwarf’s hair. It is considered an intimate act.”

Her eyes went wide at his words, shock dimming her smile. “Oh! I knew that braids had significance but hair is very important too!” Her expression clouded in confusion. “If hair is important, why do you cut yours?”

Kili could not look at her as he said, “There are few reasons why a Dwarf would do so. Shame, dishonor to his kin, death. It is in mourning though that we cut our braids and beard, my lady. I mourn for my love and the child we lost.”

The silence was difficult for him, harder than he had expected. Arwen stared at him for a moment, then nodded. Quietly, she offered a lament in Elvish though Kili understood enough to be a prayer to their gods for the life of his lost child. Fighting back his tears, he continued cutting.

Once she finished, he said roughly, “I thank you for that. No one can know if my babe entered Elven Halls or Dwarf, if either. But I thank you.”

“She loves you.” Arwen told him in a soft voice. “Even if I had not heard your name from others here, she described you perfectly.”

“Tauriel spoke of me?” Kili flinched in surprise as the Elf nodded with a smile, not expecting her to have told the Lady Arwen of him.

“She was withdrawn at first, her heart so heavy with grief. When she began her fade, my father went to her. They spoke at length for an afternoon.” There were tears in the Arwen’s eyes as she continued. “I do not know what passed between them but it gave her hope. We talked after her recovery, that is how I know of her love.”

“She loves me, after all of what transpired?” Kili looked over the balcony at the birds though he took no joy in their song. “My kin is responsible for the loss of our child. I brought her suffering, exile, grief. How can she still have love for me? I am nothing.”

“No! Prince, no! You are her everything! We Elves love only once in our long lives, some not at all.” She dusted the teardrops from her pale cheek with an enchanting smile. “The truest love is hardest to break. Like your Mithril, forged and tempered.”

Kili accepted her words for he could see the Lady had a kind soul and a good heart. The muscles in his face creaked into a smile at her analogy, remembering his mother’s Yule gifts. Many had said, travelers who he had met at the Lonely Mountain, that the Lady Arwen was the most fair. Males no matter the race were captivated by her beauty. The evening version of her grandmother, the Lady Galadriel known the length of Arda as the Lady of Light. Perhaps, that is why she had no fear in his presence, knowing of his love for another.

“My lady, I wonder if I might ask a boon of you?” Her attention brightened as she smiled wider to him. “If you will point to the areas that need clipping, I can reshape my hair. I would not like to be a guest in your home but embarrass my host.”

“That will not happen, Prince Kili. You are a most honored guest.” Arwen straightened in her chair bestowing a delicate look of reproach at him.

Asking his permission, she walked into his room for hand mirror lying on the chest. The next hour saw an Elf instructing a Dwarf on trimming the rude sprigs of hair, evening out the worst of it. She held the mirror with a smile, pointing to areas that needed his attention and how far to cut. Arwen didn’t poke fun or laugh too loud or out of turn but quieted the worst of his pain. She was grace personified, giving and sweet. Kili wondered what tasks she was ignoring to sit with him in this manner.

“My lady is sure to have other duties than sitting with a Dwarf this morning.” Kili rubbed his skull trim to flick away any leavings. The hair was quite close now, allowing him to feel the breeze more than he had.

“She did indeed.”

Kili rounded on the unknown voice behind him, completely unexpected in his lodgings. The shears went from being a utensil to a weapon by the flick of his wrist as he took a position between the unknown Elf and the Lady Arwen. A tall Elf dressed in a gray tunic steeped into view, emerging from the shadows of the trees. Thin blond hair was braided back from a sharp hawk like face, a long fingered hand on his curved sword at his waist.

He recognized the Elf from yesterday, who had stood between himself and Lord Elrond. There had been no introductions, granted Kili had not the presence of mind to remember if there had been. The Elf gave a cutting glance to the Dwarf before firing off a stream of harsh rapid Elvish to Lady Arwen.

“I do not like your tone, Elf. The lady of the house deserves your curtesy.” The idea of stabbing the sprite in his pale eyes was beginning to take shape, pushing a grin to Kili’s lips.

Arwen walked around him to stand between them with a sigh. “My Lord Glorfindel thinks you are not of your right mind, Prince Kili. I would like to convey my apologies.”

Glorfindel gave a light hiss in irritation at the Lady’s words but said nothing more. His eyes never left the Dwarf or the scissors still in his hand. Kili turned the Lady Arwen with a bow, though he too watched the new arrival as the Elf watched him. Kili made no moment toward her, sure that it would set off the Elf now tense with suspicion.

“The Lady Arwen has been most kind to me this day. If others give offense, it is upon them to make it right on _their_ honor. Never yours, my lady.” Kili had never met the Elf but any fool associated with Elves knew of the Gondolin Lord.

“Lord Elrond is expecting you.” The tone was still grating, still making him to cut the Elf down to the knee.

Arwen sighed once more, sensing the hostility. “I will go and tell Ada that you will be along, Prince. Namarie.” It was obvious that Glorfindel would not leave her alone with the Dwarf, having found her in his company.

The Lady retreated from the stalemate in a fluttering of silk and gauze, as quiet as she came. It was only when she was out of sight away from the landing, that Glorfindel turned his back rudely without a word. Kili grumbled as he went to make himself more presentable for the Lord of Rivendell.

*************

They broke their fast together, Lord Elrond set a fine table though the fare was not Kili’s usual. Green food, not unlike what the company had been served during their first trip to the wonder of the waterfall city. Gandalf had been on hand to smooth any gaff or insult with a smile and a twinkling nod of his shaggy head, keeping Thorin in check. Kili remembered the situation with the Elf whom he had thought to be a maid, Bofur and Dwalin had let him forget it in the ensuing years. The difference in the two genders were was more pronounced now that he spent time with them.

The conference with the leaders of this region had broken this morning, many were packing themselves up for the long journey home. Kili didn’t ask how it went nor did Lord Elrond say his feelings on the matter. Eriandor had been minding its business long before his birth in Ered Luin, settling their own scores. Bilbo had said that he had longed to see Elves and Rivendell but no chance from the vantage point of his comfortable chair in the Shire.

If Lord Elrond knew of his daughter’s visit this morning, he made no mention. Nor was here any talk of his shorter hair. The Half Elven had looked once at it but said nothing other than giving a greeting before they took their seats. The Lord of the Golden Flower was absent from their table but another dark Elf, introduced as Erestor had been present with Lindir.

“I didn’t see any Hobbits here. Where none invited?” Kili asked the Half Elven between the rolls he stuffed in his mouth.

“The Thain of the Shire was invited but declined. Fortinbras Took refused to name a representative.” The Lord nodded to a servant as Lindir whispered a message in his ear. “No. Let the Gondorians think we made the cheese. If not, they will hound the Shirelings unmercifully.”

Kili chuckled at the remark. “I miss Bilbo. I do, he was a good burglar.”

The look on Lord Elrond’s face became sad. “He prefers his armchair, now. He may yet come to Rivendell but the Shire will always call to him. I do like the Hobbit as well, young Kili. Come, not all ears should be in the know of our discussion.”

They walked from the terrace, down into the deeps of an off side building. Kili’s attention was drawn to the domed ceiling that soared high above him, an incrusted blackness that gave him pause. The architecture was lost to him, the support columns were lighter shadows in the brimming dark until Lord Elrond pulled back a curtain to allow the sunlight to enter. It was the Great Library of Rivendell.

Shelves with the same curved lines that the Elves of any clan favored, following a natural symmetry of a branching forest. Large books, dusty books, small books, all arranged in flowing arches that made sense Kili was sure to their Keeper of Knowledge. A wall to his right depicted a battle scene with a Man holding a broken sword aloft, giving off a radiance to the evil that threatened him with the dark.

“It’s a lovely room, Lord Elrond.” Kili walked down the steps behind the high Elf. They walked past a hooded statue of a woman holding the shards of a sword upon a cloth covered stone tray.

He turned back to stare at the depiction, probably longer than required. Strangely moved by the scene, Kili could only say it beautiful. The Man’s face wasn’t triumphant but determined and resolved. He wouldn’t allow the light to fade, would give his last to ensure its survival. How many Men and Elves had face such odds only to rage against the dying of the light?

“History is an excellent teacher. More often than not, it will tell the same story over and over.” The Half Elven pulled a book from a shelf above his head, to stare at the spine.

“How often does history tell a story of a Dwarf who loved an Elf?” The words tumbled from his mouth before he thought them through but at once he wanted to know the answer.

Kili’s gaze swung to the Elf who looked at him now with a smile. It was kind and gentle much like his daughter’s giving Kili a measure of assurance that no insult had been taken. “There are not any in my recollection. I could ask Glorfindel if you so wish to know. He has seen more in this world than I.”

“Thank you, sir. But no. Your assistance in this matter has most appreciated but not all would have taken such a task.” Glorfindel would have him locked in a dark room as if one might shut away a mad man. ‘Not in his right mind’, what did he know of it?

Lord Elrond pulled two more thick volumes to lay upon the closest table. A whiff of dust and mildew greeted the Dwarf as the Elf opened the book to begin searching for the correct pages. The high Elf began to translate different sections on the differences between Noldorin and Silvan Elves, not just their appearance but the values they hold sacred. When they reached the betrothal and gift giving ideals, Kili almost swallowed his tongue in exasperation.

 

“I gave her no gifts. _Nothing_. Dwarves give gifts at the courting then haggle at the betrothal before the ceremony. So much haggling, even the bride price is negotiated for weeks before it is paid.” There was a disgusted feeling that erupted from inside as each word punched the air. The more he said, the angrier at himself he felt, forcing him to pace his agitation. “I am a careless fool.”

He had left Erebor with barely more than the clothes on his back, even those had to be repacked by his Amad. Save the loose jewels and gold that he had brought to his rooms, Kili had nothing that would be considered an appropriate offering for the woman he loved save the marriage beads at the bottom of his rucksack. Had she been a Dwarrowdam, Tauriel would have laughed at his wayward thoughtlessness. It would have been taken as a sign that he didn’t value her as his Ghivashel.

Bain had the forethought to bring necessities or at least Bard, his Amad and Nadad had. The idea of treating with the high Elf, bartering for the goods needed for such an enterprise would not have occurred to Kili until much later. His recklessness had brought him to this state. Now he would have to tender a request so that he could give the proper honor to his love with a worthy gift.

There had been every possible opportunity in the last five years to walk to Erebor’s own Archives to search for the information that the Elf laid out before him. Had he not wiled away the time drinking in a tavern and bemoaning the course of his life, another two ponies would have been needed for all that he should have brought to lay at her delicate feet. Dwarves showered their Ones with every luxury, many put off their actual wedding for years so that they could build spectacular halls for the ones they loved so dear.

Calmly as the Elves were known to do, Lord Elrond spoke to him in the same quiet tone. “I am sure the Elleth would agree with me but you gave her the greatest gift anyone could give the woman he loves. A child.”

“Yes! I could not save him! I could not protect my child or my love!” Kili griped the back of chair before until his thick fingers snapped the spine line a twig. “Could he have known? Could Thorin have known she carried my babe?”

“I would say no, not unless she told him. It was still early yet.” Lord Elrond rose from his chair to examine the broken bits of his furniture. “Do not let your thoughts travel that path. The darkness that awaits you there will be much worse than what you have known. Thorin is at peace, a stone figure in the Halls with your ancestors. Let that go, Master Dwarf.”

“What if I am not capable?” Kili asked him desperately, his soul churning with pain. “What if I cannot reach beyond what I have lost?”

“Then you will not have the future I have seen and my promise to Tauriel will be broken.” The Elf picked up the chair, taking it the door to leave outside in the passageway. “I see many futures, many things. One possibility has the two of you together for many years. You will have much happiness, joy and love. What you take from this room with you today will decide if that future is lost.”

Kili walked to the windows, looking out over the city as many of the delegates meandered over the bridges to depart through the great arched entry. It was peaceful here, Kili thought. A refuge for those who had nowhere else in their world. There was no anger, resentment. He could even understand Glorfindel though he had no love for the Elf or his attitude. Even a peaceful place needed to be protected.  He would ask the Half Elven what else they spoke of that afternoon, it was between the two of them.  Kili wanted to believe with everything inside him that a future with his One was possible. But first things needed doing, traditions needed to be honored.

He didn’t turn to his host but asked quietly. “If I may, my lord, I would request the use of your forge. It occurs to me that while I am in possession of my Lady’s dagger, she is berefit of a good knife. It would be the first of many things I would bestow upon she who holds my heart. We Dwarves have often turned to the heat and metal when all else makes little to no sense.”

A door opened behind him, bringing Kili’s attention to that direction. Glorfindel glided into the room with an officious stride, Erestor behind him. While the Gondolin Lord made his obedience to Lord Elrond, he never stopped looking at the Dwarf by the windows. Words were exchanged between the three, swiftly with Kili only catching a handful. The ones he understood were not of his liking.

“I can understand your desire, young Kili. We all need to work out the anger that will feed the darkness. Yes, I shall grant your request.“ He held his hand to the stave off whatever the blond Elf would say to him. “We will escort you to the Master of the Forge, Perphant. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day I will learn to write shorts... tonight I am finishing up the last chapter of Accidental Exhibitionists and it is about 5000 words... that isn't short, not by a mile.
> 
> I am very curious to know what you the reader thinks of this chapter.. I had a lot of problems with the content and rewrote it three times but nothing seemed ok or even close to the level of expectation that I have for this ...
> 
> I thank everyone for reading this and sticking with an unusually AU!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I dreamed I went out with an angel, and had a good time  
> I dreamed I was satisfied, and nothin' to worry my mind  
> But that was just a dream, Lord, what a dream I had on my mind,  
> Now, and when I woke up, baby, not an angel could I find
> 
> ~Big Bill Broonzy - Just a Dream~

 

Dwalin looked at the pigs with disgust. Why ever would one chose to be aback such creatures astounded him each time he looked upon their bristly hides. The saddles were ornate on a few, indicating their riders in short order. They were finely tooled affairs with the padded deeper seats for softer backsides. There were far less buckles on the skirts than the others so that the boars would not be as loaded down. Three ‘dams, Dwalin shaking his head, three! He had come to this gods forsaken land for one female, now he was burdened with three females and by the looks of it four Dwarrows. It was a bloody caravan after all.

Three pack ponies only were going with baggage piled high of their backs. Not chests, the ponies would break down under the heavy load before they reached sight of the mountain. Leather packs, cinched tightly were strapped down to be covered with oiled tarps like the people of Long Lake used to prevent water damage. His own spare ponies had been repacked as well with the same care and consideration. Olrun had been true to her word, organizing all with considerable efficiency.

He had not seen her since she had flounced into the room to fawn over Dain in front of him. She knew or maybe Olrun had forgotten he had a temper. The ‘dam had to know that being so saucy with another male even kin would bother him. Or maybe that was why she did it. Revenge from a female was always the most brutal. Watching the two of them had soured him the rest of the day. Spiteful, just spiteful.

Three of snouted animals were as yet without packs, judging by their absence of testicles the size of his boots, Dwalin thought they might be female. Shaking his head at the animals as much as to himself, the tattooed captain realized that in some way he had come out the loser in this enterprise though at the moment the how had not presented itself. One of the pigs sniffed at his boots before raising its snout to look at him with beady eyes and quivering nose. The urge to scratch its head was strong but Dwalin walked away. None would call him swineherd as they might Dain behind his back.

Nori had given him some interesting news last evening as they sat at a stall sampling the local brew. Zigal had been diverted from the Iron court, sent directly back to Linnar’s Hall to the North. There had been some grumbling that he had disgraced himself with his actions or that Dain felt it was a disgrace. At any road, they would not be forced into the disgraced ambassador’s presence before they were due to depart. Considering the banter Dwalin had been forced to witness between Olrun and her cousin Dain, a good fight would have lightened his mood considerably.

“None will think less of you if take one for a ride, old friend.” Linnar stole up to him quieter than Nori on a good day. Dwalin managed to keep from jumping at the voice at his elbow.

Looking at the swine in harass, Dwalin griped. “Its going to be a beast of a day. If I start growling now, I’ll never last.”

The Dwarrow wore a wool covering in the Easterling style, belted at the waist with his mattock in hand. The chilled briskness of the morning air was not lost on him, pushing a want to hurry home. The days were getting shorter as Durin’s Day fast approached him, as well as the anniversary of Smaug’s destruction. The Great Battle, Thorin’s death. So many anniversaries and not all of them festive.

Linnar laughed in a jovial manner despite Dwalin’s surly tone. “Yes, you will. You are like that blasted mountain, nothing brakes you down.”

“Only Gror.” Looking at the Dwarrow beside him as they walked about the animals. “I had forgotten how lifelike his statue was.”

“What would you expect of that Dwarrow? It was carved during his living years so that he could instruct the sculptor. He complained that too many forget a Dwarf’s true countenance after his passing. He didn’t want his effigy marred by a failing memory!” Linnar looked at Dwalin closely. “Haven’t forgotten your fostering here, eh?”

Dwalin grinned at him. “To my last breath, I will remember!”

Dwalin had been an unruly stripling, unable to take the most simplest of orders without ramming his master with that hard head. His father, Fundin, had not the patience for an obstinate child that couldn’t be curbed with whipping. So Dwalin had been sent for fostering at the Iron Hills with his cousins Thorin and Frerin. The Iron Court Longbeards were harder than their Mountain cousins, warmongers to their core. Gror was an unforgiving taskmaster in battle training, driving them from early morning to end of day.

It was the place that had forged their brotherhood, shaping them into the Dwarrows they would become. Frerin had been sweet on a lass of good blood here, carving wooden animals for her. Her name escaped him now, but comely with a honeyed smile. Thorin being Thorin had trained until he could defeat Gror in hand to hand. It was enough that got them released to go home. Now, Dwalin was the only one who carried the memories of those years. Losing comrades to await in the Halls was not to be a sad thing, but it made the tattooed Dwarf feel older than he should. Thorin and Frerin had been young, much too young to stand in stone beside their ancestors.

“We had not the time to talk of late. When I arrived, you looked ill at ease. Are you against your daughter going to Erebor?” Dwalin asked his old friend who pursed his lips in annoyance.

“I do not like to be used, my friend.” Linnar turned to him now. “I like even less to be in the middle of two boulders that are about to collide.”

Any further discussion was cut off as Dwarrows covered in mail carrying heavy mattocks trooped out of the main hall. King Dain in all his puffed up pride followed his men as they arrayed themselves to one side of the open expanse. His Stiffbeard Queen was with him today, a lovely ‘dam with her white blond hair in silvery purple and steel who Dwalin had not been introduced. The Queen Kibil kept to a Hall deep in the hill, guarded close by a jealous husband. It mattered not to Dwalin at any road, he didn’t see himself as a frequent visitor of the Iron Court in the future to warrant an introduction.

It was Olrun who had his attention, with her split leg leather riding skirt and jerkin. Everything about her lightened his mood. Her hair glinted with steel pins, holding the braids away from her face though they looked sharp enough to be weapons. She carried a long coat with a padded red liner, just the thing to keep her warm on the trail. A pair of knives were strapped to her wide belt but he would make sure they were not needed for fighting. The idea of her in any danger made him want to bare his teeth and rend something. Dwalin griped his sword a little tighter, aching to bring her into his arms for a kiss that would send him into the stars.

“Dwalin, son of Fundin. I would like to present my daughter, Skuld.” Linnar drew forward a young Dwarrowdam with a winningly shy smile.

Erebor’s captain looked her over with a critical eye. Young, she was but a pretty thing. Tight braids for travel snaked across her head leaving her family braids loose on her shoulder with steel beads and a clasp with her family crest stamped upon its face. The age beads were present signifying her years, catching the early sun in sparkling reflection. Her hair might have been brown at first glance but streaks of red glinted here and there in the braids. Pale green eyes with dark lashes expressed curiosity before she lowered them in modesty. The young Dwarrows in Erebor would certainly like to make her acquaintance.

“My lady. “ Dwalin bowed his head in greeting but caught Olrun’s smirk not far away.

“I have assurances from the Princess Dis she will be well chaperoned but Lady Olrun thought her brother, Olgr and his wife, Verdandi, should come as well.” Linnar looked a trifle uncomfortable with this new implementation but Dwalin had already seen the saddles. He knew there were others coming before his old friend felt the need to mention it.

Dain swept forward his arm around his wife in a most possessive manner. “Dwalin, I hope your visit has been to your likening!”

The Ironfoot rarely left his court unless he was armed to the teeth. Today was one such day. Thin bladed knives in their ornate sheaths decorated the front of his surcoat in rows of giggling metal. Dain had even slung his mattock over a shoulder opposite of his lady to prevent her from being injured. Such a show was ostentatious to him, but Royalty and particularly the Iron Court’s flavor didn’t set well with him anyway.

“I cannot say when last I was here but you do seem to be having a good turn with ales. The water is softer, I imagine.” It was the only complement that he could think that would please. Anything else would be an insult.

Bifur brought him his pony, already saddled before mounting his own. The dizzy flirt had settled down in the last two days in the Iron Hills, no more tail swishing that he could see. Bifur tossed him his coat that he had left inside earlier, throwing it over the saddle.

“Yes, yes. Now, advise Fili. He may borrow, only borrow. I will miss Olrun and her counsel too much for her to be courted off by some Mountain Dwarrow. Even a King!” Dain chortled but the Queen’s expression froze as she bid the Lady Verdandi farewell. Obviously, his wife didn’t care for his close friendship with his cousin.

“My King has a Queen already. He does not look to others.” Dwalin kept his opinions off his face. There had been no time to consider the anger he had invoked in the Princess when he voiced his thoughts on Fili’s fishwife.

“A Daughter of Man! We should not mate with those creatures as she will be dead in a handful of years. Skuld is not in her maturity as yet. It would lovely to have closer relations with Erebor again. In another thirty years, the climate in the Mountain could be blowing from a different direction.” The speculative look on Dain’s face stopped Dwalin cold.

He had no inclinations of political intrigue, preferring a soldier’s life. Hitting and killing in the name of Erebor was more to his liking than wading through every comment and gesture for a secondary meaning. Balin enjoyed that life, pealing back the layers of diplomacy to see the secrets revealed and admired. Whatever Dain alluded to, Dwalin wanted none of it.

“You mistake me for my brother, King Dain. Please excuse me. I must check to make sure everyone is ready.” He bowed to the Ironfoot and his wife, passing a smile to Linnar’s daughter before walking away.

Dwalin couldn’t stand there another minute, not fending off Dain and nosy banter. It was bad enough it would now take them longer with the extra Dwarves but ‘dams? Plural? And one not of maturity? This trip had become a bad idea in a hurry and it was only getting worse.

Olrun had mounted her pig already, talking to a tall Dwarrow at her side while another held a spear and the reins to two of the swine. Dwalin didn’t feel like being polite to either. The Dwarrow looked at his One in a too familiar way and was standing entirely too close. Was this youngster a suitor? A helm covered his head so there was no real notion of family or status, while the spear he held was scarred with use.

“Who are you?” He asked the Dwarf at Olrun’s elbow rudely, wanting to swat the nosy snout grunting at his fore.

“I am Vigdis, of Linnar’s Hall.” Young too if Dwalin could judge the right of it. This Vigdis had about as much beard as Kili.

Linnar walked his daughter passed them, helping her to mount the swine as it chewed a mouth full of grass. Others gathered to offer farewell to the ones departing. Dwalin could feel his anger building at the waste of time this would cause. The Broadbeams from Linnar’s Folk wouldn’t be staying at Erebor long, hopefully would turn back once they arrived. Vigdis would have to find another ‘dam to chat up.

“Over there.” Dwalin pointed the Dwarf to Jari and Nori to deal with while he turned to a grinning Olrun. “Why is all of the Iron Court going to Erebor?”

Her smile almost brought his own until Dwalin remember he was supposed to be mad at her. “Dear Captain. I discussed this with my brother and near sister as Skuld is her niece. They both agreed it would be unseemly for me and just Skuld to go along. So, they are coming with Vigdis and Balfor there. So is Farli but I don’t see him here.”

Dwalin rubbed a finger between his eyes as a pain began due to the stress he was feeling. He might not always be able to see the rocks due to the jewels but that didn’t mean he didn’t sense a plot. “Linnar’s daughter isn’t at her maturity. Why is he letting her leave?”

“My Lord Linnar has been in communication with the Princess, mayhap you should discuss this with him.” Olrun turned from him to yell at the others to get mounted, the day was passing and they wanted to out of the mountains before dark.

Dwalin growled. “I am in charge, Olrun. I say when we go.”

“Then say it already.” With a sassy smile in place, Olrun dug into the boar’s side to send him into a trot.

The rest of the group jumped upon their mounts setting off at a pace. A Dwarf, the late Farli who Olrun had mentioned raced for his pig as Vigdis and Balfor aback the swine walked past with the ponies following suit. Olrun’s brother and near sister took the two unburdened sows, tugging behind them. The disgruntled squeals of the swine as they trudged away on shortened legs brought out the chuckles from Unnarr and Jari as they mounted as well.

The lady Skuld took a position between her aunt and uncle, waiving to her father from the middle of the herd. She had a good seat despite her youthful age, obviously growing up on pigs instead of a proper mount. Dwalin grumbled louder as many Dwarves waved at the assembly walking out of the canyon. Linnar chortled good naturally as he knocked heads with Dwalin, shaking his head in amusement.

Nori chuckled beside him, slipping beside him unnoticed as the Iron Hills travelers set off on their pigs with ponies in tow. “Shall we go?”

“Why? We could leave in an hour and overtake them before they get halfway out of the Iron Hills. Pigs, hah!”

 

*************************

“How is it I do not know this room after all my years in the mountain?” Sigrid gazed in wonder at the diamond and sapphire studded ceiling.

The patterns of the stones were the same runes that were found all over the mountain, yet softer. More feminine. The closer she looked, Sigrid imagined them in a sort of wave where the diamonds crested to make it looked like spray. When there had been storms on the lake, the water would churn in the same manner, like whitecaps. It was so very beautiful to see.

Dis smiled at her from the other side of the room. “This is the Queen’s chamber. It has been shut away and only lately remembered. My Gamal Khagun, Skögul, loved the Long Lake as I recall. She redesigned the ceiling so that the runes and family sigils looked like waves.”

Dis had organized striplings to come and clean the room after speaking with Fili the previous day. He was concerned about Sigrid and if her health would decline if the stress from other things increased. Dis had no such reservations. Her near daughter had grown up in Laketown, fending off people and charming others for the first seventeen years of life. She would rise to the challenge that was coming. There was no point in waiting, in fact they could not. Too many things were slipping passed her, like Eir and that would have to change.

A stone chair sat upon a rounded dais, not a throne like Fili’s but with curved wooden arms. Sigrid traced the scrollwork in the world with a light finger and a smile. There was not a Queen’s chair on the dais in the main Throne room, so Fili had stools made with a comfortable padding for Sigrid and his Amad when there were official functions. It had been her understanding from the Dwarrows that in elder days, the Queen would stand to the left of the Throne with the chancellor a few steps down on the right. Unfortunately, Sigrid was a bit taller than the King so it was decided that she would have a stool at his right hand to negate the height difference. That she was at ease during those official proceedings was a happy accident.

“It is funny what I remember from those days. I was still young, not even a mature Dwarf when the dragon came.  The tapestries that filled this room were moth eaten and old. New ones will have to be made.” Her boots reverberated in the emptiness with the quiet underscore of her blue skirts swishing on the stone floor.

The moldy tapestries that could be salvaged had been given to the Tailor’s Guild who had the best chance at their restoration. The ones that were beyond repair had been sketched in case a need was found for them in the future. Maybe some of the women in Dale might gift carpets or tapestries to Sigrid, Dis thought as she watched her near daughter. It was a perfect setting for a woman who grew up at Lake town to inhabit the Queen’s Water Chamber as it had been called in Dis’ early years.  

“It is my fault, dear Sigrid. Everything that has been happening with Herja.” Dis’ expression held misery as her near daughter’s gaze snapped in her direction. “There were always projects, restoration, and trade arrangements. I neglected this part of your education. For that alone, I am sorry. So very sorry.”

Sigrid walked to her quickly, enveloping the smaller ‘dam in her arms though careful of her beard. “You carry as much a burden as Fili. You both have worked so hard to make Erebor what it is now. Herja is her own fault.”

“You are the Queen under the Mountain. A princess of Dale before the marriage. You are strong enough for what is to come.” Dis pulled away to begin walking once more around the room, looking at the ceiling still. “A Queen has handmaidens, ladies of the court and of good blood. They are companions, spies, confidants. They are the front line of defense and the last line of retreat. Herja has supplanted you in that instance, gathering a circle of ‘dams. All she needs is..”

“A king.” Sigrid finished when Dis faltered. It was enough that she understood her near mother’s mind.

“or a Prince.” Dis rubbed her hand down a wall as a line of crests twinkled in the low light. “Kili is unmarried but he would cut her down first. He has proven that he will have his Elf or none at all.”

Sigrid shook her head as she too began to look at the walls. There were few places in the Royal halls that bore any mark of her doing, preferring to keep her influence at a low ebb. But here, in this chamber, this place would be hers. She might not be a Dwarrowdam but Sigrid was still the Mountain Queen.

“Thorin son of Dain is not married. She might try to land him.” Sigrid mentioned with an absent air as ideas for the room filled her thoughts.  Her mind on other things she missed Dis’ look of anger. “It isn’t the Lonely Mountain but still a throne.”

“She wants Erebor, my girl, else she would be in the Iron Hills right now. But no child of Dain Ironfoot will sit Erebor’s throne, I swear to Mahal. That weak blood will not supplant your sons! Dain showed up to the Great Battle when he thought it would cost him the least and my brother the most. As I understand it, Fili had to all but shove him from the Mountain later.” Her words brought back the memories Sigrid had wished to forget.

Fili had been injured on the last day, stabbed upon Ravenhill not far to the west where the Orcs massed for a last attack. He had been brought to Dale, to their house that they had commandeered until he could travel. All the while, Dain had told anyone who would listen that Fili was near death and the treasure hoard must needs be protected. Men of Dale and Thorin’s company had managed to hold him at bay until Fili could arrive and take charge.

“If she marries into the line of Durin,” Sigrid began, her head swinging to her husband’s mother. “My children will not be safe.”

“No. They will not.” Dis looked at her but there was no fear, only grim determination. “We have to be very sure when we strike at her, Sigrid. Our chances will be few, so each one must draw the most blood. The Dwarrowdams that follow her will break but they can never be trusted. They threw their lot in with her, turning their back on their Queen. That is intolerable.”

Loyalty. It wasn’t just a Mannish trait or a masculine one. Dwarves had a high sense of honor for their race, wanting to be able to look their ancestors in the eye when they meet again at the reawakening. The deeds they performed in life would echo in song from the Halls of the living to the Halls of Waiting. If the song was out of tune with betrayal or shame, some believed their stone would be smashed before the last days.

The ‘dams had said cruel things about her babies, nasty things that made her wish for a sword to cut them down. Fili wanted his Kingdom whole, united to the rest of Middle Earth but it couldn’t be if others hacked away at Erebor’s foundations. Dis was right, things would not change in the short term unless they became proactive in Herja’s removal. But if you cut off one head, would another grow in its place? Which of the other Dwarrowdam’s would try to rise in Herja’s absence?

“What have you done so far?” Sigrid was almost afraid to ask what schemes her near mother had laid for them. By the looks of it, Dis was afraid to speak of it.

“Much. The young Dwarrowdam, Dwalin is bringing here is the second daughter of Lord Linnar of the Broadbeams. His eldest has accepted betrothal of a Blacklock and therefore unsuitable. But Linnar’s daughter is not old enough for courting, will not be for some years. Skuld will be part of your new court, learning a different perspective as she ages. She needed chaperones to come as well.” The last remark brought a cat like smile to her face. Sigrid caught it immediately.

Walking up to her near mother so they were arm and arm as they neared the door, Sigrid asked, “These chaperones? They are her family?”

“Yes, Skuld’s aunt and her husband work with the swine that become Abkarul Hakhd. Verdandi has extensive knowledge of their training. Balin has expressed an interest in having the mounted boars to take with him to Moria. I doubt that Fili will consider a breeding program but my son has fooled me in the past. The pigs have been a favorite mount of the Iron Hills since Gror settled there in my grandfather’s time.” The two royal members stepped from the Water chamber to proceed in the general direction of the public halls.

Whether or not Dis realized it, Sigrid could feel her near mother turn the conversation. As Queen, she had made a point to try to learn as much of the customs as possible so as not to shame her Kingly husband. Khudzul continued to elude her with its harsher syllables and irregular grunts that were actually verbs. But one thing she that had learned which was paramount in her education was that a Dwarrow had to notify first his family that a ‘dam held interest in him and be presented to the Dwarrowdam’s family as her choice. The young Dwarrowdam couldn’t do that if her family was in the Iron Hills but a mother’s sister would be sufficient for notification.

“I suppose they do not eat pork in the Iron Hills. It would be like eating a pony here. If you ride an animal and bond with it, it is difficult to kill it and cook it for the family.” Sigrid snarked in a better mood, letting the conversation of the new ‘dam go. While the bleak situation dampened her mood somewhat, she never let it break her stride.

“Exactly!”

The ladies neared the common promenade leading down to the open public halls, many Dwarrows and striplings scurried in their late afternoon duties. The public halls were a lively place full of commerce and discussion. With Durin’s Day fast approaching them, many Dwarves had returned for the celebration in droves, filling up the upper halls. Towering over so many, Sigrid stood apart by virtue of her height alone. The thick cornet braids around her head woven with blue ribbons and sapphire beads also singled her out as the Queen. The masses parted like the lake before a barge, allowing her and Dis to pass unmolested.

The Stoor Hobbits were funny, Sigrid thought as she passed. They were grouped together, staring at the assembly with wide eyes. Always wanting to make a good impression, Sigrid approached them with the same geniality as she would anyone else. The leader of their delegation smiled as he bowed very low to her.

“I understand you are member of the River hobbits. I am Sigrid, Queen of Erebor. How do you find your stay at the Lonely Mountain.” Official smile in place, she dared not offer a hand like she would have in Dale. The Dwarrows would react with swift vengeance, seeing it as an insult.

“Quite enjoyable, your grace. May I say, the fairest flower I have ever seen resides here in Erebor.” Sigrid laughed at his flattery, seeing it truly for what it was. “I am Dingol, your grace.”

“Your words are kind, Dingol of the River folk. It is my wish that you enjoy your stay and your journey home be pleasant.” Sigrid continued passed with Dis behind her. She could feel her near mother smiling at her in praise.

The young Stripling, Blain, was to take the children outside once the sun passed over noon. Sigrid and Dis parted ways so that she could meet the boys and share in the late afternoon play since the nights were getting colder now with approaching winter. Being with the boys in the meadow had become an enjoyable past time, giving Sigrid her sunshine and the boys exercise. While they were Dwarves of Erebor and destined to love the surrounding rock, the blood of Men flowed through them, might push them to be less confined. Time would reconcile their desires in life but she hoped they remembered that life didn’t always end in stone.

Walking past the Great Gates, the guards on each side snapped to attention with spears and shield. The posts were rotated every six hours, putting fresh perspectives at Erebor’s main entry. The Dwarrows here were not green troops out of the training halls but part of a carefully selected squad. They rotated off the gates to a four shift at the balcony above, more as lookouts than actual guards. Erebor’s captain was determined that no Dragon would attempt their mountain again.

Sigrid stepped to one side to not block the entry but scanned the meadow below looking for her children. Fian would be wild, running as far as his legs could take him with Vian crawling in an attempt to do the same. Lately, an interesting mix of gabber had babbled from Vian at odd moments, as if he was talking already. Fian had no spoken until after his second year, only now beginning to have a more cohesive grasp on Westron much to Dis’ chagrin. Fili and his mother began speaking more Khudzul of late so that he would pick up on the language faster. It seemed that her eldest was more like her as he did not understand the Dwarven language no matter how he tried.

Watching her boys at play, Sigrid wondered how much longer the peace would last for them. The war that was coming was not something that would be fought with war hammers or axes, nevermind swords. Unless she was wrong, Sigrid knew that Herja wouldn’t get her hands bloody. It would be combat with words and sly innuendo aimed at her weaknesses. The casualties would number in torn families and shattered loyalty, Dwarrows who didn’t understand that they were pawns. Gloin was still seething from the Eir affair if gossip were true but he was Herja’s dupe, nonetheless. No direct blame had been laid at her feet for this that Sigrid knew.

Dis understood the power plays of the Dwarrowdams, herself mired deep in them. Sigrid didn’t hold any anger at her near mother for trying to protect them but she wasn’t a witless child either. Had Eir married Gimli, then another of Herja’s circle married a son of Durin either Dwalin, old Oin or Kili, Herja would have a concentrated hold on the monarchy.She could force Fili into a corner where he would have to step down or cast Sigrid out as Queen. If Herja thought to mess with her boys or her love, to push them out of their birthright so that she could reign under the Mountain, she was in for a surprise.

That Dwarrowdam would learn firsthand just how the ladies of the Lake dealt with interlopers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things. There are new characters introduced as part of the group from the Iron Court. Olgr, Olrun’s brother means protector and very fitting. His wife's name is Verdandi, taken from one of the Wyrd sisters and is the present or what is to become. Skuld is the Future while Urd is the past I think. Urd is coming or she is already there lol, anyway I just love her.   
> The Stoor Hobbits are interesting to me because Smeagol was one, but susceptible to the ring. Bilbo and Frodo were as well but it seemed to take longer than it did Smeagol. Dingol is a conjoined name I made up, meaning silent wisdom..He’s a good hobbit but he can’t hold his mead particularly when it is mixed with elven wine.   
> Vigdis means war goddess but it is also the name of the father of the Stonefoot dwarves. I am going on the assumption that the names and use can and do change from one clan to another. Skogul, Dis’ grandmother, her name means shaker. Very fitting for a Dwarrowdam who tried to hijack the kingdom.   
> Kibil, Dain’s wife, is a stiffbeard ‘dam & her name means silver. Her marriage was a merger, not for love. & no, she doesn’t like Olrun.   
> Sigrid is going to go all Laketown on Herja… ohhhh I can not wait. Durin’s day will happen before that … back to the writing. I have been wrestling with Dis and her motivation. You see a little more of her plans but the ultimate one, I am saving. Balin is going to have an intervention with her….


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of Durin's Day Festival

Durin’s day was a day of the Dwarves. Truly. They converged to fill Erebor to overflowing, every residence hall packed to the brim until some had to share their rooms. Many of the visiting dignitaries understood that King Fili had set the week aside not only for the holiday of their race but also for remembrance of those lost in the Great battle. The ambassadors would pack themselves up to spend the time in Dale or the newly restored Esgaroth, even traveling to Mirkwood for entry to King Thranduil’s court. The Dwarrows shut down the mine as well as the forges, drinking and feasting from morning until night, the heaviest on Durin’s day proper. Each with a story to tell of a long ago friend who had fallen to await with Mahal. They were not so unfriendly with their tales of long ago but after several hours of drink, a Dwarrows boisterous persona might wear a bit thin.

The Stoor Hobbits had left the day before to visit Esgaroth and look upon their boats used on the Long Lake. Fili found them fascinating yet had not real answer on what they wanted with the mattocks and Dwarven military training. Smaller than Dwarves without the heavy bone needed, they would be more of a liability in battle than an asset, Bilbo Baggins being the exception. Likely if they had made this same offer to Dain, it had been met with rejection. The Dwarves of the Iron Hills would never show an outsider the ins and outs of their battle tactics.

Market days were closed until spring by order of the King. The snows could get deep here north of the lake, making travel almost impossible for the heavy carts. Fili had no wish to loose lives over coin no matter how rich, so it was far easier to suspend the activity. The long winter months gave the Dwarrows time to work on their craft so that the goods they sold next year would be of the finest quality. With restorations complete, the Dwarrows would have much more to sell than normal therefore ensuring Erebor’s place as bustling center of trade in the north.

The bales of wool that had not been sold in the spring had been spun and dyed over the summer. Many of the guild would get together over the long snow filled days, weaving rugs and blankets during the cold months ahead. The leftover wool would be distributed to the dwarrows for their own use. One of the primary rulings that Fili upheld was that nothing was sold from Erebor if there was a present need in his kingdom. If one Dwarrow slept without a blanket or had nothing to cloth himself in protective layers, no fabric would leave the Great Gates. Fili would not be the King of a beggar Kingdom despite the gossip of neighboring rulers during their lean years.

The Great Chamber of Thror was the one place many gravitated once the celebration was underway. The massive Feasting Hall supported long tables crowded with every delicacy, attracting the Dwarves as they ate and drank their fill. Benches and tables had been set up in the Hall of the Ancients as Ori and a few others led loud drinking songs and tales of valor were read from the surviving scrolls. The disputes were resolved in the Throne room over which ancestor had the hardest head or took the most Orc swords in which battle with Oin and his horn as the arbitrator. Balin was suspiciously absent.

The kitchens had been hard at work for many days to prepare for the feast. Barrels of live fish had been carted in from the lake to be stored until they could be baked with fruits and wine. Twenty sheep had been harvested along with untold number of deer for the long spits that lay cooking in the large fires of the Feasting Hall. Bombur ruled the food preparations, instructing the striplings on what to replenish and where to put the next tray. He would always lend a hand during the larger dinners, effortlessly pulling off the most delicious concoctions.

Fili walked here and there, stopping to talk with this Dwarrow or the other with little Fian dressed in different shades of blue at his side. The helm the boy wore was princely indeed, a gift from Dwalin by way of Balin as the Captain of Erebor’s guard had not returned as yet from the Iron Hills. The gift was unexpected but Sigrid had been the first to place upon their son’s head, thanking the Balin profusely. The aged chancellor had discussed with a Thrush only this morning that Dwalin had been safe and well but far out still thanks to his slower moving companions aback the Iron Court Boars. Fili and Balin had shared a chuckle over just how irate poor Dwalin could be at the hold up.

A few of the younger Dwarrowdams had approached Fili at different times during the feast, complimenting him on his gold and enameled beard braids or the thick gold crafted leather belt. However, he was engaged with one Dwarf or the next and not able to entertain them with more than a nodding acknowledgement. They fluttered about the different groups like jeweled butterflies flitting from one Dwarrow to the next. The few he knew by sight, were packed about the Lady Herja as she made a slow circuit of the room but always it seemed as if her eye was on him. The pale blue gown with the sapphire and topaz collar and girdle were hard not to spot with the other ladies in darker hues. Whether it was intentional, Fili could not know.

His mother and Sigrid were not in attendance yet as Vian had been fretful this morning. His little boy had days where weaning didn’t bother him, eating and drinking as if it were of no consequence. Other days, he would cling and pull at Sigrid’s bodice lacings, screaming at the top of his powerful Dwarvish lungs. With her milk drying but not completely stopped due to her current pregnancy, Sigrid and Dis would try to play games with him to break his mood. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t.

The crush of people separated Fili and Bofur as a line of Dwarves danced in a snaking line between them to a pipe tune of the foot stomping variety. The strange tickle feeling at the base of his neck reminded him of hunting Orcs as he picked up Fian who waived his small helm to Bofur. He could see the ladies at stopped to talk to one of the jewel crafters but one or two still stared at him openly. Fili refused to run from the women who seemed to be stalking him from the fringes of the room. His anger began to grow when he looked up to see Lady Herja lick her lips in a provocative manner. He could almost laugh at her boldness if his anger had not been in control of his reason.

Whatever the lady had picked up the notion that her king would find such behavior acceptable, confused him entirely. There was no shared history between them, what memories he had of Herja from Ered Luin were sketchy. She had preferred the company of other Dwarrows instead of a possible prince in the wings. Fili remembered that there had been a courtship at one point between her and a Firebeard, however nothing came of it. Mayhap, he could be misremembering. Time could get away from so many, particularly when new things were added to his life daily. The present problem of her attitude towards the Queen troubled him greatly.

Fili considered as he walked with his son, that the life he had in Ered Luin had shaped himself and his brother, forging Dwarrows of good character. Kili’s road was harder now that he looked for his love, out in the wilds for who knew how long. The news from Rivendell had been disappointing but his brother wouldn’t let go. Such stubbornness had served them as striplings in Thorin’s Halls, learning metal and the sword. It had not been an easy existence, they had toiled and struggled like the rest of the exiles for what they had. Fili had hopes for a good life for his sons here at the Lonely Mountain, a life of plenty but also love and happiness. The Dwarrows, his people, laughed along with Fian, slipping him treats when they thought Fili wasn’t looking.

 

Bofur took Fian from Fili though he seemed a little tipsy and displayed a redder than normal nose to point towards the stairs leading from the Promenade. The chatter from the immediate vicinity of Dwarves stuttered to a halt as they turned to stare at the vision walking slowly down the stars. Fili felt his breath catch and his step falter as he beheld his One arrayed in such finery. His mother, Dori and two striplings, followed in her wake. The older of the pair carried a squirming Vian wearing royal blue and silver to match is brother’s blue and gold. The child was too young for a metal circlet to reference his station so Dori had fashioned a silver cap with a band of silver and diamonds sown into the bottom to signify that he was second born.

But it was Sigrid who drew his eye, Sigrid who took his breath. Her dress was a gossamer deep yellow, high waisted due to her pregnancy. Sheer gold material pleated at the bodice with hammered gold cupping her breasts to band underneath like a demi chest plate. Heavy cloth of gold draped long from the folds under the chest plate to reveal diamonds and citrines spotted all over the shiny underskirt.

Her long hair, a gorgeous blond was braided with diamond crusted gold wire then woven within the spikes of the gold crown upon her head. Resembling the sun and its rays, spires rose from the braids, each topped with a diamond to catch the torch light in brilliant fire. At the bottom of the crown thin gold chain mail had been attached to hang upon her shoulders and down her back with diamonds in the chinks.

Sigrid looked like a warrior queen, dressed to do battle and wage war against her enemies. There were finely tooled leather gauntlets covering her forearms to the backs of her hands in golden lapping scales. Her head held high with the slightest smile upon her lips, Fili knew he was one of the slain at her feet. Her great beauty captured him utterly, making him realize how lucky he was that she had chosen him for a husband.

Breaking tradition, not caring who whispered of such, Fili went to her almost knocking down a few Dwarrows in his eagerness. Upon reaching the stair, he knelt at one black trousered knee before her with his head bowed in genuine supplication. His crown might have fallen from his head as he kneeled to she who held his heart but he cared not. A few gasps broke the silence at his actions but he wouldn’t be bothered with their opinions. Nothing mattered at this moment than showing his One the true level of adoration he felt for her.

Staring at the step, he did not more until her fingers traced his brow, then his cheek and finally his chin. “Why do you kneel, my love?”

Looking at her now, so close to him, Fili croaked. “It is proper when worshiping the fairest creature to ever grace Erebor!”

Her laughter echoed in the vast chamber like the twinkling bells in Dale’s steeples. Sigrid drew her husband to stand at her side as she called to the assembly. “Come, fine Dwarrows of Erebor. Let us drink the King’s fine malt beer and praise our glorious ancestors until it shakes the foundations of the Lonely Mountain!”

A great cheer went up from the Dwarrows as Sigrid kissed her husband breathless, wrapping fingers in his gold capped braids. Fili quaked as she tugged his plaits, leaving a slight sting at his scalp as desire pounded his reason. He managed a bow of his head to Dis and Dori but never taking his hands from Sigrid. She had his focus and every inch of his intent. Not the Dwarrows who slapped his back nor the wenches who circled like wargs. His woman, his wife.

The second stripling, Blain took young Fian from Bofur with a happy smile. He had been with the children the most in the rotations to assist them as Sigrid grew stronger. It was obvious the boys trusted him far more than anyone else save their parents and Dis. Fili made a mental note to find out his position in his guild before considering taking the boy on as a royal page for his wife.

Sigrid smiled and nodded to each who caught her eye as Fili led her from the stairs to the Throne room. With the arrival of the queen, the official toast would be delivered so that the real celebration could begin. The path they walked was clear as their people receded to the walls as the royal family advanced. A Dwarrow or two that Fili didn’t recognize might have stared too long at the glorious creature at his side, making Fili snarl at them in possessive fury. They immediately lowered their eyes, backing further away as the King with his Queen passed them by.

He swore that there might have been a suppressed giggle from the general direction of his mother but when Fili looked over his shoulder to her, he saw nothing save a Princess of the royal house. Sigrid squeezed his arm as they reached the dais, mounting the stairs with the Queen one step behind him. Fili escorted her to the pillion to his right, kissing her palms before taking the high throne. His mother took her seat a few spaces away on the left side as the Throne room filled to capacity. As the crowds relaxed, Dis signaled to the drummers across from her by the large stone pillars.

Five of the Elite guard with four drummers in between them marched in front of the dais, the spear ends a counterpoint to the stroke of the drum. When the beat began to slow, Fili stood to walk down two steps from the throne, his blue and black robes resting on the step behind him. The black surcoat beneath and the black tunic and trousers were plain yet the forged gold links of Erebor caught and held the flickering of the candles and the torches.

Fili cleared this thought before beginning, giving Sigrid a wink in the process. He hate public speaking, never could he be compared with Thorin in that score. “‎Our ancestors took this land with axe and sword. They took it, making a great kingdom out of this lonely rock miles from its solid brethren.  We do not give up what our ancestors gave us with their ultimate and sometimes final sacrifice. They came across wastes and they fought here, built here and they're buried here. This is our land, mortared with Dwarf blood, strengthened with Dwarf bone.”

The Dwarrows stared with rapt attention, making him wonder if his delivery was better than he thought. Fili continued, pacing along the long step. “Dragons and Orcs have long been our enemy, driving us from our homes time and again, but no longer. We Durin’s Folk are of hardy stock, able to take what the enemy can hurtle at us with a smile. Our axes are sharp, our shields are broad. We will endure.”

Thunderous applause bounded in the high ceilings as the Dwarves yelled their affirmation, shaking the dust from the rafters as they stamped their feet into the rock below. Sigrid and Dis stood together along with the children to clap but then bow as one to their King. Fili blew a kiss to his Queen as turned to Fian, indicting that the little boy should join him. His son ran with no thought and heedless laughter to jump into his father’s waiting arms.

Fili held up his hand for silence and the assembly quieted to allow the King under the Mountain the opportunity to finish. “In a month’s time, there will be a second celebration. My beauteous Queen by the grace of Mahal is bearing once more.” Fili turned to smile at Sigrid even as he rubbed little Fian’s belly to the amusement of the crowd. “For the rich gift that the Kingdom of Dale has bestowed upon me, I would like to repay in kind. The Men of Dale and the Dwarrows of Erebor will come together on that day for the celebration of Giving. Now, you are all welcome to attend! I won’t have Men saying they could outdrink a Dwarrow!”

The good natured grumbling and laughter at the King’s statement echoed back to Fili as laughed along with them. The Dwarves would have a sporting chance against the Elves when it came to holding their grog but the Men of Dale stood no chance at all. His mother shook her head laughing at some comment that Balin made in her ear before beaming his approval at Fili.

The king continued. “Now good Dwarrows, I open the hospitality of the Mountain to you all!”

The drums began to pound in the hall, drowning out the cheers that rose higher than ever. Many filed out to avail themselves of the food in the other rooms or the dancing in the open thoroughfares. Fili handed Fian back to the stripling as Oin took a bench to one side of the room. He was still the one in charge to settle disputes! Fili walked amongst his people, Sigrid with Vian and Dis two steps behind him. Balin circulated in another direction as a friendly face to any who might be hesitant about approaching King Fili. However, there were some that did not hesitate and were much to bold for comfort.

Lady Herja and her ladies strolled about the room, talking animatedly to several and making comments to others. Fili was beginning to get that Orc feeling again, tickling the back of his neck. He scanned the room for Balin to help avoid the any unpleasantness but his counselor was mired between two arguing merchants from Ered Luin. Sigrid took a mug of what looked to be mead from a passing stripling, taking a step closer to Fili on his right side. Turning to young Burin who stood at her back, she gave little Vian over to his care as the little baby cooed to pull at the young Dwarfs beard with a smile.

“Thanu men.” A breathless voice gasped in front of him, bringing Fili’s attention back to his fore. Lady Herja had planted herself with two ‘dams behind her. “Thanu men. I was so inspired by your speech! My Princess.”

Herja bowed to Dis on Fili’s left with a cut direct at Sigrid on his right. The dark haired ‘dam made no move to acknowledge her Queen, causing twitters of amusement from the ladies behind her. Dis bristled at the slight but Sigrid smirked behind the tankard at the obvious petty slight. Lady Herja angled her body to the right, dipping low into curtsy with generous display of bosom present.

“We thank you, lady Herja. My Queen gives the most wonderful ideas, knowing me so well that speeches are never my forte.” The King took Sigrid’s hand to pull her forward, kissing the inside of her wrist in an intimate gesture.

“Thanu Men is most lavish in his flattery. I but said a word or two, only. The speech was truly from the depths of his generous soul.” Sigrid captured his cheek in her hand as Fili placed another kiss on her wrist, earning a shiver. They two seemed lost in each other as if the whole kingdom had fallen away.

Lady Herja was not content to let the opportunity slide past since her bosom had attracted no interest, her gaze racked the Queen’s attire. “I would complement the Queen on her dress, my King,but I find that the bands on your arms are quite unusual. Are those fish scales?”

The ladies’ twitter broke into giggles at Lady Herja’s not so subtle jab at Sigrid’s humble beginnings and unfortunate moniker. Fili straightened at the insult, so barefaced before his One and those within hearing. Not only was the insult bad enough, but Herja still refused to openly acknowledge Sigrid at his side. The whole side of her conversation had been directed to the King. Sigrid’s grin never faltered as she took a step forward at her enemy.

“My lady Herja! I would complement you as well on your dress but I believe I have done so already. Did not you wear this to the spring opening of the Markets?” Sigrid took another step forward, her head cocked aside as she studied the pattern of gems at the collar.

Lady Herja’s spine stiffened at the affront, her shoulders locked rigidly. Anger shone brightly in her eyes as her lip sneered in the Blond Queen’s direction. “I have not had the pleasure of wearing this gown in the past, nor would I seek to insult my King by not wearing my best!”

Dis coughed as she placed herself further into the opening for a better view of Sigrid and her perusal of the light blue gown. Fili had no idea where his wife was going with this conversation, only that Herja was getting more and more agitated. He wanted to stand in front of his love as the light of battle entered Herja’s face and indignation squinted her eyes.

“Ah, then it must have been Lady Goll who lent you the dress, for I have seen this yoke look previously. It came to me from the Tailor’s guild that you would not have a dress made in time. Such a shame, that. Every Dwarrowdam should look-..OHH.” Quite unexpectantly, Sigrid became violently ill upon the blue dress in question, spilling her tankard’s contents on it as well. The vomit sprayed from her mouth forcefully, rendering her coughing just to breath.

Everyone was frozen in shock as Sigrid gasped in horror at what she had done. “Oh my! Lady Herja.. your lovely gown! Or Lady Goll’s lovely gown. I am so very sorry! It’s the mead, it never sits well during my bearing. I should have remembered-”

Oin appeared faster than a man of his age was wont, pressing a wet cloth to Sigrid’s face. “Athanu men! Please, come rest yourself!”

Fili broke from his daze at what just happened, tearing himself away from the morbid enjoyment of brown sick now ruining the pretty sky colored gown. Wrapping an arm around Sigrid with Dis on her other side, they led her to Oin’s bench as the old healer barked orders to the striplings on hand for weak tea and water to be brought. The Dwarrows closed the wake between himself and Lady Herja but not before he saw the livid rage on her face before she turned and fled the hall. The murmurs of concern and alarm that the Queen should be so out of sorts, raced through the room like wildfire.

“My love, are you well? Shall we retire? I do not want you exerting yourself.” Fili was flustered at how slow everyone was moving. The Queen was ill, he wanted to bellow at them, move faster!

Sigrid smoothed her hands down her belly, flicking out the skirts. She gratefully cleaned her mouth with some fresh water, spitting the waste into an empty tankard to be disposed. Strangely enough, she seemed composed and quiet at ruining someone’s dress even the Lady Herja’s. Fili wasn’t sure of what to make of this development.

“Please, Please!” Sigrid began finally, taking Fili’s hand in her own as she addressed the company present and close enough to hear. “It must be the excitement of such a wondrous celebration. You fine Dwarrows have displayed such loyalty to our beloved King, it can be quite overwhelming. It just makes me cry with happiness that he is so loved by all of Durin’s Folk!”

Sigrid discreetly snatched a handkerchief from Dis who smiled at her in turn. Sigrid raised her tankard of water to the assembly, dabbing her eyes with the cloth. “Everyone! Please join me in a toast…To the King Under the Mountain!”

Shouts of ‘King Under the Mountain!’ bellowed from the closest Dwarves becoming a chant as the call was taken up by the Dwarrows preceding them. A wave of tankards, glasses and wineskins punched the air as the Throne room erupted in the thunder of feet and drums with a horn slicing into the sound at different intervals. Balin escorted Fili with young Fian back to the dais, where he placed his hand over heart to bow his head in humility as Fian took off golden helm to waive it at crowds below the Throne. The Dwarves continued to cheer their King, roaring like wargs on the battlefield.

************

On the other side of the hall, Dis took a seat beside her near daughter as Burin took a post, still holding a laughing Vian. She could no longer hide her grin as Sigrid finished her weak tea with a smile. The two ladies of Erebor looked at each other only to burst out laughing with glee.

Sigrid put her arm around Fili’s mother. “You said to wait until it drew the most blood!”

“That I did, my girl. That I did! But it wasn’t blood on her dress.” Dis couldn’t stop laughing as the Dwarrows continued to scream their devotion with loving pride. It was Sigrid that had routed Herja then turned the situation into a celebrated avowal of Dwarven faith.

“No! It wasn’t..Gods, how I hate mead!” Sigrid dissolved into laughter once more.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andddd.... Round 2 goes to Sigrid...
> 
> Ok.. First off.. I do not nor will I ever condone drinking while being preggers.. But I figured that since the mead wouldn’t be in her stomach long, the alcohol effects would be negligible. It was just too funny to pass up, Herja covered in mead and vomit.. :shudders and giggles::
> 
> I want to thank everyone who is subscribing! I figured it out recently and almost fell out of my chair ! Thank you so much ! And thank you again to everyone who reads, comments and leaves kudos... I am very curious about reactions to this story, so don't be shy..


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's still the same old story   
>  A fight for love and glory   
>  A case of do or die.   
>  The world will always welcome lovers   
>  As time goes by.

 

 

 

It was dusty travel but they were making better time than Dwalin first assumed. Four days into it and the group had achieved a harmonious balance with animal care and guard duty. While Olrun had not burdened them with overstuffed carts and other fripperies, the swine were still slow movers. Gror had only just begun the program when Dwalin had been foster there, never having the pleasure of pig travel. Though, he had shoveled his fair share of pig shit as punishment. The Iron Court riders moved in concert with the beasts, not unlike riding a pony. The stout small legged rooters were hardier with a higher level of endurance than Dwalin had given them credit. It didn’t mean that he was warming to mobile pork chops, just that they were not what he had thought them to be.

Then again, the pigs hated the ponies.

Unnarr’s gelding had kicked one of the boars when it rooted too close earlier in the evening, leaving a gash on it’s hindquarters. Before they could be stopped, two other boars rammed into the back legs of the gelding, topping it backwards. The mad scramble that ensued had put him closer to an angry swine than he wanted to be. The pony had been unhurt since there had been no serrated blades on the boars’ tusks but Dwalin insisted that Unnarr ride the spare they had brought with them in case an injury surfaced later on the poor gelding.  

Olrun and Olgr now walked among the pigs to help calm them after the incident. The low broad animals circled her as she spoke lightly to them, rubbing snouts and scratching behind ears. Olrun wore a smile as she sang a few deep notes of lullaby that was common among Dwarves as she caressed a small ear in passing. The coordinated attack had left Dwalin unsettled, confused at the animals motives since the boars had not been mounted at the time.

Olrun walked out of the herd to talk to him, motioning for Vigdis to take her place. “They are better now. Verdandi will stay among them tonight. She raised this herd, knows their quirks.”

“Why did those two pigs attack the pony? No one gave orders to them.” Dwalin spoke low as a few heads turned in his direction. Small beady eyes assessed him from a distance.

Olrun smiled once more. “They are trained to be Abkarul Hakhd but there is a fierce loyalty in a sounder. Dain’s battle groups are arranged by herd for the very reason you just saw. If a boar is attacked, his herdmates that he has known from birth will come to his defense if they are able. They are more intelligent than you think, much more than ponies.”

Dwalin huffed at her in disagreement. While he was no authority on the intelligence levels of either ponies or pigs, he was just happy to be near her. The swelling ache in his chest was less now that she was close to him where he could defend her if necessary. Looking at her profile, Dwalin wondered how he ever had the strength to leave her all those years ago. The separation had not been easy, only his determination to be at Thorin’s side had kept him sane.

Olrun was relaxed tonight, walking around the perimeter with him with an easy air. She took her travel braids out each night save her family braid, letting her long hair and beard waver in the evening breeze. Such unbound wickedness set him on edge but hardened his body in lascivious ways. Dwalin would stare at her fluttering mass, longing to run his fingers through it. Put his braids in the soft curls, as she would do to him. He doubted he could stand her hands on his head without spending himself like a stripling.

“I think Skuld will enjoy the experience of the Mountain Court. She has only ever known the rigidity of Kibil of the Stiffbeards. Queen Sigrid I have heard is much more relaxed but then she isn’t a Dwarrowdam.” Olrun spoke to him, jerking the Dwarf from his lecherous thoughts of hair braiding.

“Fishwife Queen, you mean.” Dwalin had no real love the Queen, no sense in pretending otherwise. That the King or boy as Dwalin sometimes thought of Fili loved his wife was immaterial to the son of Fundin.

Olrun’s gaze sharpened as she stared. “It is unseemly to speak ill of the Queen, Captain of Erebor. Your King did not find her wanting when he took her hand in marriage, placing a crown upon her head. Why should you?”

“She has never treated me ill but I will not ignore what she is. Sigrid is the daughter of Man, a lesser race than Dwarf. She is also a descendant of Girion who failed to destroy the red Scourge. Why should I bend a knee to her?” This was not a conversation he wanted to have with her, though he would never hold back his opinion. Olrun deserved to know what his thoughts since she was always present in them.

“You bend because you serve at the pleasure of the King and he loves her by all accounts. Sigrid is said to be a lovely woman, humble and true. She is not to blame for her ancestor’s failing.” Olrun spoke to him patiently as if to a child, reminding him of things he would forget. She stopped to stare at him in open disapproval that that he would be so unkind to a good Queen.

“Had her ancestor struck true and killed the beast, I wouldn’t have spent the last forty years without you in my life. Each day I blame Man for what I could have had with you in these wasted years.” Dwalin walked away from her to attend his pony, her audience with him over. The pain of those wasted years as he called them was a wound that still went unhealed.

“Oh, my love. It isn’t too late.” Olrun whispered the words to the wind, staring at him across the expanse.

It is a hard thing to love a difficult Dwarf. She had known this years before but her heart wouldn’t let her get past it. He was her One, the needing for him had never stopped, nor would it. The Dwarrows who were brave enough to face the wrath of Dain had approached her brother to offer themselves since their parents had sat in the Halls Awaiting. Olrun had turned away all suits, none were the honed edged warrior she had met just past her maturity.

“If longing was a physical thing, I should be afraid to stand between you two.” The red hair Dwarf commented, taking a place at her side. “Being so close to you really isn’t wise.”

“I would be more concerned if he discovers your subterfuge, Thorin Stonehelm. Using a false name of Farli instead of your own is truly unwise.” Olrun signed longingly as she watched Dwalin rub down his mount.

The heir of the Iron Hills shrugged with disinterest. “He has not called Vigdis out for being a Dwarrowdam. Dwalin son of Fundin would have to tear his eyes and thoughts from you, dear cousin, to notice any of us.”

Escape had not been as easy as Olrun had wished, nothing in life really is. Dain had been caught off guard by her request to escort young Skuld to Erebor but had countered quickly when he learned of who she was taking with her. Dain must have gone to his son to come with them as an escort but also a spy to the Mountain Court. Farli had been contracted as a guard but Thorin son of Dain had obviously changed his mind to take his place. If Farli had spoken to Thorin about what little he knew, the redheaded Dwarf gave no indication. Olrun felt so happy that she had told the others little except her brother and his wife.

“Thanu Dain takes too much upon himself, young prince. It is my hope that he and your mother would find more time to themselves and save him some of the stress of his crown.” It was a hollow thing to say but lip service was needed to stop this line of conversation.

Olrun worried that if Thorin’s presence was found in their party, she would be asked to leave before her dreams came to fruition. Everything she had planned for this trip could be explained in simple terms, the extra chaperones and their gear. Everything had a reason unless someone walked into Olrun’s quarters to see half of her wardrobe missing along with a two thirds of her jewels. Everything she had left behind was an embarrassing gift from her king.

“My father was very concerned for your wellbeing. Nothing else takes priority to your safety.” Thorin spoke easily as if discussing the cloud cover over the hills at their backs.

Olrun nodded to the heir of the Iron Hills but let the silence fall between them. Dain had sent his son to ensure her return, she wasn’t a fool. Olrun had known Thorin Stonehelm all of her life, he would do his father’s bidding if pushed. The two of them been amiable acquaintances then the occasion called for it, but not friends. He was his mother’s son for all of his Longbeard features and the Queen did not hold Olrun in the same favor that her husband did. She could not blame the Stiffbeard ‘dam who had no real control over her own court or her husband. Olrun just knew she had to get out or her life would never be her own.

When Dain had returned from the Great Battle, he had been triumphant but angry at being denying what he considered his fair share of the treasure. The endless days of ravens carrying messages between the Monarchs did nothing to soothe Olrun who waited for news from Dwalin. Any news. The Lonely Mountain had been reclaimed for the Longbeards. While Durin’s Folk mourned the passing of The Oakenshield, they rebuilt and expanded as the glory of Erebor shone again.

Tensions had risen higher between the two courts when the residents of the Iron Hills began to leave, immigrating back to the Mountain Court. The halls and hearths of their fathers called to the Dwarrows as did the memories of spring winds that blew fierce from the Overlook. Many of those same Dwarrows had been very skilled, extracting the ore from the hills like taking an egg from a bird’s nest. Dain had raged at Erebor at every turn, angered that his workforce was dwindling.

Olrun knew not if Dwalin had written to her, only that she received nothing. She would not accept that he had cast her aside or taken another for his wife. Dwalin was many things, but fickle wasn’t among his traits. Dain’s court was rife with gossip over the smallest things from the Mountain, this Dwarrow was taking a wife, that ‘dam was bearing. Out of desperation a year ago, Olrun contacted one who might help her and together they hatched a plan. The initial details had confused her until she took a look around the Iron Court. The reality of _her_ situation had astounded Olrun completely.

Zigal’s company carried more than the words from her King, her brother’s son Vigg had been a member. He had managed to take a lot of her things and Verdandi’s packed carefully amongst Zigal’s ostentatious clothing. No one would search the ambassador, truly there was no need too. Zigal was loyal to Dain though he was counted amongst Linnar’s Folk. Vigg made certain their possessions went to the right people at Erebor to awake Olrun’s arrival.

“Your service to Thanu Dain is commendable, Prince Thorin. It shows the strength in your character that you would honor him so.” There was another two weeks before they reached the Lonely Mountain. Having Thorin’s good will would be essential for the end game.

“I must confess I am eager to see Erebor and King Fili’s halls. What my father has asked of me is no hardship, my lady.” Balfor called to Thorin to help him with the pack ponies. Dain’s heir met their fellow Dwarrow halfway to get the animals settled.

“I can’t wait to get there either, Thorin so that I might finally be rid of your father.” Olrun murmured to herself as she joined her brother’s daughter, Vigdis in the sounder.

*********************

Dwarves are thought to be an industrious race, crafting beautiful things of metals and jewels. That they can be more stubborn goes hand and hand with the crafting, many spending long hours in the heat and the dark. Tenacity is its own reward for a job or work well done where one finds pleasure in the accomplishment of such beauty. But not in the day to day dealings with each other, especially when you are dealing with a very stubborn Dwarf.

Balin had known Gloin all of his life. They were cousins in the line of Durin, striplings together at Erebor before the coming of Smaug. Later it was to Azanulbizar that Balin had marched, cutting his teeth in battle beside his younger brother, Dwalin. The bitter death of so many he had known in life made the ones still living all that more precious. He was there when Frerin and Thror had been dispatched, their lives ended tragically on an Orc’s sword. Glorin had been too young by their counting to march, left behind with the ones who had made it out alive from the Lonely Mountain.

Gloin had ever been a faithful Dwarf to Thorin, now his allegiance stood firmly with Thane Fili. As Master of the Accounts, he had unilateral power over the money that came into Erebor as well as what was left. Gloin had a steely mind for numbers that was bordering on the diabolical, his grasp of percentages and interests made money for the Kingdom faster than what was actually sold. Time had not softened the ginger Dwarrow, giving him ideas that he should not have or listening to those who should not speak. Balin felt sorry for his old friend for he came out the loser in this latest enterprise.

With Durin’s day behind them, Balin had wished that things would slip into normality once more. However with Lady’s Herja’s additional clothing decoration curtsy of the Queen, he was afraid what would crop out of the woodwork to bite them in soft places. The resplendent Sigrid in golden battle dress counted her coup against her antagonizer in fine style, chasing the lady from the Hall for the rest of the day. Durin only knows what the beastly Herja will do next but for the moment, Sigrid reigned with a happy smile. Reports had come to him that Gloin was sniggering due to the Queen’s request for funds to furnish the Water Chamber for her own audiences in the future. A Queen’s court established under Sigrid would take some of the pressure from the King on internal matters but also ensure Sigrid’s place on the council. A place that could use her no nonsense approach when he left on his own expedition.

The future….

Looking at the sad Dwarrowdam in the doorway, the chancellor tried to remember the red headed stripling who had run these same halls with him all those years ago but failed utterly in the weight of the lady’s sadness. Eir was dressed in white with no jewels on her collar. As she was now masterless without recommendation in their caste, she was required to pull all badges of rank or accomplishment from her person. Until she married, Eir would be required to wear the bleached color as it was the lowest color of their hierarchy and the hardest to keep clean. Striplings were taught early that if they didn’t keep their clothes clean, they would never be able to properly serve their master. If she appeared in public with a dirty dress, it would be remarked upon with shame. It made Herja’s disgrace all the sweeter.

“Sit down please, Lady Eir.” Balin gave her a kind smile as tears welled in already red eyes. “If I have pulled you away from something pressing, I do apologize but it couldn’t wait.”

She gave a listless nod before taking a seat before Balin’s desk. “I do not know why I am called, Lord Chancellor. As you know, I have been released as an apprentice to Master Gloin. Even my friends turn away from me now.”

Dwarrowdams were not required to enter the caste system or find a trade as there were so few. However the ones who did, were kept to the same rules as the males with the same punishments for disobedience. The ‘dams who became masters in their own right, were the best in their field. If they failed, it was harder. Some were shunned or they claimed Dwarrows in betrothal to avoid it.

Thinking of who the friends could be, Balin was compelled to ask the lady. “Were they really your friends, my lady?”

Eir looked to a corner of his chambers. “I thought they were. Herja was so nice in the beginning.”

Balin smiled kindly to her. “If I may, Lady Eir, they do you no justice. I have heard that Lady Herja requested that you consider Gimli, son of Gloin for courting. Is that no so?”

The young ‘dam nodded miserably. “Had I accepted, I would not be masterless.”

Balin had long considered that the ‘dams might be more than what they thought, working side by side with Dwarrows for the betterment of their society. While there were few enough, a good ‘dam was as rare as Mithril. Herja was becoming more than a thorn in his side but a dragon in her own right.

“Did you have feelings for Gimli?” Balin asked tentatively. “Courting does not always lead to marriage.”

“No, I..There is another.” She spoke softly. “From before we came to Erebor.”

“You are from the Iron Hills, are you not?” He had not heard of her wanting another Dwarrow, indeed he was surprised to learn of this now. “If you would like to go back..”

“No! He..well he did not think of me that way.” Lady Eir looked down in her lap as her fingers pulled at a string.

It might have been the Dwarrow in question had not known of Lady Eir’s regard. Such a sweet faced girl, who could not love her? The Iron Court had stricter segregated rules than Erebor had ever thought, especially after the Desolation. The Dwarrowdams were regulated to the Queen’s court for her to review and monitor, Dain not wanting to be involved in feminine drivel. Only one or two had the direct ear of the King Dain or so the gossip said.

“I see. My lady, I asked you here today because I would like you to consider becoming an apprentice scribe to me.” Balin could see he made the right choice in helping this young girl, especially after Gloin’s ridiculous behavior. He placed the contract on the table between them.

“What!” Her surprise was evident at the announcement. “I ..You are the chancellor the Thane Fili! Ori son of..-”

“Ori has become head of our Archives. A daunting task but necessary which leaves a spot available for someone with your talent! Will you sign, my Lady?” Balin handed her a quill that she took with shaking hands.

She wiped her nose on a lacy square as she put the pen to parchment. The words of the document bound Eir to Balin for the next two years until she reached her maturity. He would have to submit the recommendation for her to continue to become a master after she came of age. But then she would be considered a peer not an apprentice.

Balin continued to smile but frowned when she stopped midway. “What is it, lady?”

“Will there be issues with Master Gloin?” Her lip trembled as she looked at him at last. There was real fear behind her eyes at the thought of the son of Groin.

“Not for you. No Dwarrow can interfere between a master and his apprentice. I had to wait until you were released to submit the request. Oh!” Balin chuckled. “Gloin tried to make trouble, tried to have you banned from the caste. He had forgotten that he won too much money from the master of guilds two nights before.”

Skirfir son of Skafith owed Balin a favor due to some unpleasantness at Nori’s tavern which Balin smoothed over for him. Skirfir as master of the guilds was on the council, only attending with pressed. He was a Dwarf who still loved the forge and would live in the heat with a smile if left along. He did like his beer on occasion, sometimes too much for Bombur’s tastes and caused a ruckus that nearly got him permanently ejected from his favorite relaxation place.

The fact that Skirfir despised Gloin had made the situation all the sweeter. The russet hair Dwarrow had snickered that a son of Skafith who had managed to rise so high should not gamble if he didn’t know how to win. Gloin should have tried to be nicer to the Dwarves of which he associated, not make enemies.

Eir looked horrified. “Tried to have me banned! I could never have been taken on! I should have listen, I should have taken him..”

“No! You did not love Gimli why claim him?” Balin could see she was getting worked up by this situation to which nothing could change the outcome now that she had signed.

“Why? Why is he doing this?” Eir gasped at him. “I don’t understand!”

“I think it is because…hmm..Gloin understood your worth, dear lady. He knew you could be a Master one day and he sought to have that for Gimli who seems quite enamored with being a warrior.” Balin chuckled before continuing. “There are few enough Dwarrowdams in our race, less who might offer a claim to a warrior. Had you married, his line would have lived on.”

Lady Eir nodded quietly, thinking over his words. The fretful twisting of the handkerchief had ceased after much deliberation and a few calming breaths. Balin doubted sincerely that the young female would get this worked up on a given day when Gloin was in a foul mood. He had seen her separate herself from a situation to work tirelessly on contracts and research of the same. But this situation affected her personally, hence her distress. Once she found her stride here, Lady Eir would be an invaluable assest to Galar once Balin made for Moria.

“Its your line too. The line of Durin the Deathless.” Her voice was quiet, tentative as if she were revealing a secret.

Balin smiled. “Yes but we are a distaff branch. Thanu Fili is a direct descendant from Durin the sixth!”

Balin sat back for a minute at her words, a few new ideas came to mind. The Dwarrowdam sat quietly watching him with a smile now. “So I will be your apprentice?”

The old Dwarf chuckled. “Yes, but I argued though Skirfir had to agree with Gloin on one subject. You will drop back to citrine but you can reapply for opal next year.”

“I don’t care, sir! Honestly! I can’t think you enough!” Lady Eir hopped out of her chair with tears of joy on her face instead of the misery.

The red and blotchy skin above her beard was pale even now in her happiness, making Balin wish he had argued harder for her opal jewel to remain. Though Skirfir was correct that there had to be a penalty for her early release, Balin was still a bit angry that Lady Eir should suffer for it. It should have been Gloin alone and maybe Lady Herja. The thought of what that dragon ‘dam was doing and problems she was causing gave Balin a headache.

Skirfir’s reasoning for the demotion was so that masters in the future would think more of what they were doing to their apprentices and their outcomes instead of the master’s own selfishness. If an apprentice was released without sufficient cause like Lady Eir, the master would be refused another apprentice for an indeterminate grace period. Gloin, in particular, would have to wait a long time before he could apply for another helper in Accounting.

“Now, now.. You are going to do very well, lady.” Balin corrected her with a smile, feeling better about himself than he had in a long time.

“I thank you humbly, Master Balin.” Lady Eir bowed low to the old Dwarf who chuckled, earning a smile from his new apprentice.

“Away with you! We start tomorrow, early!” Eir didn’t have to be told twice, she ran for the door as if a warg was on her heels. Her happy laughter faded away but Balin kept his smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an idea of the Boars having the temperament of say a German Shepherd or Rottweiler, protective and affectionate but will go after a threat with vicious intelligence. The idea of a sounder working together in a concentrated attack would not have been unusual in say wolves or lionesses. That is the mind set I have for them. Highly intelligent and trustworthy mounts.  
> Boars have 4-6 piglets with a max of 10. So if you have a small group of females with 3 piglets each, sounder group has the possibility of 9-12. I am having too much fun with them, need to think of Kili and Tauriel and not war pigs and their upbringing.  
> I was trying for something different with the Stripling/Apprentice system in Balin’s part. The demotion was probably unnecessary but I have plans for Eir.. It is just another nail for Herja’s coffin. 
> 
> There will be a Kili/Bain update later this weekend, chptr 21..I wanted it out before now but life got in the way as it always does...


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I wonder why I spend  
>  The lonely nights  
>  Dreaming of a song.  
>  The melody haunts my reverie  
>  And I am once again with you.  
>  When our love was new, and each kiss an inspiration.  
>  But that was long ago, and now my consolation  
>  Is in the stardust of a song.
> 
> ~Nat King Cole - Stardust~

 

Kili had been so changed after his maiming that Bain only saw him at a distance as the Dwarf refused most royal events. He may have been at Fili and Sigrid’s wedding in Dale though Bain’s memories were full of holes that day as he imbibed too much ale. His father, Bard, had other duties that day instead of watching after his heir and whatever mischief he might have stirred. Bain feared that the darkness that the Dwarf had shaken free in hopes for a reunion with his Elf might returned tenfold at the news of his lost child. The Elves gave him leave to go as he wished alone for Kili kept to himself and out of Bain’s company now. He felt no anger at the slight, knowing that the Dwarf held his aching misery as close to himself as his bow or blade.

When Kili began working at the Forges, many an eyebrow was raised at his choice of activity. A few more raised higher when Lord Elrond allowed and encouraged it. The Dwarf prince rose early each day, caring for Daisy and Warg before making a turn into the deeper part of the valley where the Elven smiths resided. Bain would come down to the stables to find Isen fed by Kili’s hand though the good Dwarrow knew better to attempt the stall.

Daisy had responded well to the treatments the Dunedain and the Elves had administered, her wound a crusty scar. Their animal friends were beginning to chafe at the confinement once more so the Dale prince would take them into the valley in the afternoons after he finished with this staff practice. Some days Dorlad would accompany him, though others he did not. The Dunedain company had taken to patrolling the Hidden Valley while Dirhael visited with his daughter Gilraen, waiting for his grandson to arrive.

His surprise must has been stamped upon his face when he met Gilraen the fair of the Dunedain. Her laugh had been merry as his shock increased when learning her age. Why she looked like a young girl for all of her talk of living thirty nine years. His Da was older though not by much, the cares and concerns of being King had aged him. Truthfully, his Da had looked aged before he took the crown of Dale. Her son, Estel, was fifteen not much younger than himself!

His practice sessions were how he found information on his Dwarf friend as the Elves became agitated at his use of the Orc spear. Low murmurs in Elvish echoed in the stables while he would brush Isen to a coppery sheen. When he asked them what they said, they would smile politely and walk away. Lindir, the Lord’s right hand by Bain’s understanding was more forthright, imparting the information on Kili the others refused.

Unsure of his course, Bain had asked a Raven to send word if possible to the King that they had arrived in Rivendell. Tauriel wasn’t here but they were steadfast that her route from the valley was a simple one. The other parts of the tale were not for him to say, that would come from Kili to his family. The kindly hen had agreed to impart her news once she had seen her kin at Ravenhill. What else she knew of the situation, Bain refused to consider.

Early one afternoon, Glorfindel paid him a visit to watch his movements and offer critique. Isen raised his head at the new arrival but went back to eating after a few minutes of careful inspection. Volund had not been so careful with himself the young man realized as the Elf’s tutelage gave him perspective on this fighting style. Elves were more fluid in technique than the Beornlings, moving like water to deflect instead of standing like a rock in a stream. Bain took the advice in stride until an Elf he had not met brought two staffs and an Elven spear. The tall young Man straightened out of his pose at the sight.

“The Orc’s weapon is ill made, young prince. The weight and balance of our lance will serve you better in battle. Lord Elrond is most impressed with your diligence.” The former Lord of the Golden Flower took one of the staffs offered. “I would ask your leave for it has been too long since I have used a staff and found practice is good for all.”

“I am learning, a student in many eyes, Master Glorfindel. I am not the right caliber for one such as you..” Bain sought to explain though Glorfindel cut him off to the quick.

“Humility is an admirable trait for a prince. Never lose that, for it is the doom of Men that they forget from whence they come.” A charming smile took his face. “It pleases me to be of assistance to you.”

“As you wish.” Bain while confused would not ignore the opportunity. Glorfindel was old when their world was young, coming back from the dead as sharp as his blades.

Taking a spot on level ground, the servants brought forward the staffs to the combatants. One of the Elves uses a cloth when he took the Orc’s weapon as Bain exchanged it for the fighting staff. The dark Noldorin had not wished to sully his hands with the Orc filth though Bain himself had used it combat and practice for nearly three weeks. He wanted to grin at their silly reactions until he saw Glorfindel remove his outer tunic and begin to warm up his muscles.

The Elf had been a warrior in his time and still was in this age. Hand over hand, he moved the heavy staff around his waist, spinning it like a thin reed and just as gracefully. Closing his eyes, the blond Elf disconnected from the present, moving on the balls of his feet. There was an elegance to the fighting, a nibble sinuousness, like wind billowing in the leaves of a lean tree. A young tree might bend where an old one would break. It was a moment he would never forget in the long years to come.

Once it was complete, Glorfindel raised the staff at chest height in both hands before wrapping his arm down the spine of the staff. It was the only warning Bain received of the strike that the Elf pushed at him. Deflecting the blow with a clumsy knock of the wood, Bain watched the shoulders and the knees of his opponent. They moved in concert, circling the other in a round. The blows were not tempered, each hit to the body gave him a learning experience in pain. After an hour of abuse, the Elven warrior consented to a rest to take some refreshment and for Bain to check himself. Dorlad of the Dunedain would have stood a much better chance than Bain had so far.

“You fight well, Master Glorfindel.” Bain blew his breath out as he studied a red patch that would bruise along his ribs.

“Long experience. I wonder, young Prince, that you do not attempt to call me by my former title.” Drinking his fill, the Elf studied him as he lowered the wineskin.

“I was given to understand that you do not prefer it.” Bain gave him a rueful smile. “I already fight you in your leisure, I would not wish to fight you in anger.”

A rare laugh escaped the blonde Elf. “More injuries for the ladies to ooh and ahh in vain ploys to ply you with stories. I wonder that you do not fall in the wake of the Lady Arwen as so many do.”

“The lady is most fair, Master Glorfindel. I do confess, but it is a poor guest who chases the affections of the daughter of the house without leave or understanding.” Bain drank deep then immediately, coughing to prevent the water from choking him. Taking a seat on a stone bench nearby, he coughed his last.

“Yes, a poor guest indeed but you are mannerly which we appreciate.” The Elf conceded. He reframed from commenting on Arwen’s affections for that was not his primary concern. “Speaking of guests, Prince Kili has impressed the armorer with his skill. Master Perphant has said nothing but praise over the blades and jewelry the Dwarf has crafted.”

“Losing a child he did not know he fathered would have been hard on him. Lord Elrond is most kind to give him an outlet.” Bain advised cautiously. They were moving into a conversation he wasn’t sure he wanted to have. “Children are precious to Dwarves.”

“To Elves as well as we have so few babies. With long lived races, low birthrates could be seen as a blessing.” Glorfindel’s indifferent shrug annoyed Bain though the Elf added once he noticed how his words had been received. “Some races might be envious were we both immortal and well populated.”

“Kili loves his Elf deeply even now. My sister is married to his brother. They love totally or not all, population be damned.” Bain looked at the Elf with a raised eyebrow. “You have questions, I think.”

“What will Kili do when he finds her?” The blond Elf asked quietly.

“Take her home to Erebor. Love her all the days of his life, content in the blessing that she loves him in turn.” Bain was unsure of the ground they both were treading, like one saw something the other could not.

“She lived all her life in the forests, under the stars. To take her from their pure light and cage her in stone would be cruel.” Glorfindel ran his hand down the staff’s surface, picking out a splinter from a blow on the wood. He didn’t look to the young Man to see his reaction. “Dwarves do not understand what a real treasure is. They see value only in gold and copper, and iron. They see hoards of gems and silver. They gather riches to themselves, building great halls, which they guard ferociously. Then they die. What purpose does all of that serve?”

“I think that would be for them both to decide, what they will do and where they will live. Not me or anyone else.” Bain knew Kili would never force Tauriel but follow in her wake until his last breath, so strong was his love. He still had nightmares, though now Bain didn’t hear him yell in the night like he was wont.

Bain whistled to Isen as the red stallion trotted to his side. The prince thanked the Glorfindel for his help but he now knew why he had been so uncomfortable about the Elf. He may have been returned to this life by the blessing of their gods but there was much he had forgotten and even less he had forgiven too. The master of the Golden Flower knew not the power of a love that could drive one mad at its loss, maybe he never known that feeling. His life was scored with victory in Gondolin now he was a wraith in the homily house, a keeper of immense power.

If it was the doom of Men that they die instead of living forever, it was a gift as well. Men lived each day knowing they had one life and one death. They filled those lives with honor and love, counting their fortunes in the faces of their children and grandchildren. Elves were fair creatures, gathering wisdom by watching the long years pass them and leave their world unchanged. It wasn’t an enviable life, Bain decided as he rode Isen back to the stable, just a longer goodbye.  

*************

Kili had finished the last of the grips on the silvery blades. He held one up to the light was the golden essence caressed the finely honed edge. The sparkling flash blinded him momentarily as the sheen took a life of its own. The activity of working all daylight hours had served its purpose to keep him from falling into the black rage that possessed him for so long. Though many would look askance to the prince and think him mad, the sore muscles in his shoulders weren’t from killing this time but creating.

He rose early each day, well before the lark sang to the sun upon the cliffs. Dressing in gifted leathers, Kili had ghosted from his quiet quarters, never wishing to disturb Bain in his slumber. The young Man had left him alone these long days for which he was grateful and sad. He knew not what to say to Bain or articulate what he was going through. The ponies never asked him questions when he visited them, taking their feed and brushings with a sigh of happiness. The nights found him almost too tired to make it back to the quarters, once or twice sleeping in the forge until the Elves became annoyed by it.

The weapons were finely wrought, something that gave Kili immense pride at the long hours he had put into them. A glorious meld of both Dwarish and Elvish styles that would fit a delicate hand perfectly for the balance was past the guard. He had taken the measurements from the Elven blade he already carried, deciding that it may have been crafted just for her. Kili finished wiping the guards most carefully not wishing to lose a finger on a knife he had fashioned. It is a poor smith indeed to be scarred by his work or at least a careless one.

The Elves had given him a space to use at the back end of their forges, open aired with a hearth, anvil and slack tub. The tools needed had been brought as well with little consideration for what he attempted. Kili took no offense at their behavior, Elves being reserved to the point of pain. There were few that came and went here, even less than that used this part of the kiln, less to interfere with his craft. Only Perphant checked upon him regularly, making sure he had not killed himself or burned down the stone forge.

Kili had heard tales of Elves and their craft over the course of his life, yet true smiths and crafters here were scarce. He had not seen furnaces in Mirkwood to be an accurate judge of Elvish smiths nor even Rivendell’s at the company’s visit. Elven Master Perphant here had been most helpful. Though his manner left much to be desired, he made the trees seem welcoming.

Kili looked to the side of his bench at his latest creation. While the blades had set, Kili had combed through some of the treasure that Fili had packed for specific things as ideas took root in his mind. It was not enough to give her knives but also something more. Braids and hair were a sacrosanct to his culture so ornaments for her fiery mane would not go amiss. In truth many of the betrothal gifts from ‘dam to Dwarrow included something handmade.

His first attempts had been a failure, impatience getting the better of him. A day wasted, then another before Kili got himself under control to lift the etcher and begin again. Now staring at the engraved clips on the table, he wondered if maybe he had missed his calling as a smith. His mother had taught him the rudiments of the trade from their small family forge in Ered Luin in between Thorin and Dwalin’s lessons in swordplay. Like any craft, practice is the key to making anything of worth, particularly if it is for the love of your life. The One who completes your soul. The delicate silver ornaments shaped like leaves bore his family crest beneath the veins of the leaf itself, boasting a small emerald at the steam. A perfect betrothal gift for Tauriel, a daughter of the woodland realm.

The hardest to craft so far had been the Mithril links. Already worked and bound to their shape, the metal was almost impossible to break. There had been a small bag of loose Mithril scales amongst the hoard that he appropriated for this purpose. It was a beautiful substance, sparkling like fine diamonds on the table when he dumped them. The molds he had borrowed from an Elf crafter with a kind word and promise to return. He could not just appropriate what he needed, even a guest can overstay his welcome. The extra scales, Kili had gifted to the Elf when he was finished once he was sure they would not be needed. The poor Elf had been shocked by the present or as shocked as one of that race could exude.

The scales had been bound in gold then attached to a golden wire hair net at the ends to dangle in her glorious tresses or upon her creamy shoulders. The braided net had taken more of his time than setting the Mithril. It would be attached by spring pins to anchor on her head and prevent it from sliding or slipping. Many of the Elves stared over his shoulder as he attached each scale until it was complete. Several asked him to sketch the design so that they may have it for their master archives.

But it was the rings that gave him the greatest sense of achievement. Much more complicated than the hair net, Kili had to guess at the size of her finger based on the uniformity of the knife handle. Perphant had given instruction but it was Kili who worked the design. A solid gold band with tiny silver leaves bending on the top. A joining of the betrothal and marriage traditions of her race or so he had managed to glean from the books in the library. He would wear his ring with pride, a mark that they were joined in this life already. Taking her officially as his wife by Dwarven standards would demand a higher degree of preparation but Kili enjoyed the thought just the same.

Lord Elrond had come and gone in the days that he worked the forges and crafted his gifts. The high Elf had smiled when Kili showed him the rings that he would use. The Elf had smiled greater still when he gave the Half Elven some loose emeralds and gold ingots he had left over from smelting. Kili could hear whispering amongst the smiths as it must be odd for them to see a Dwarf willing give than have it forcibly taken.

Kili knew the reputation of Dwarves across Middle Earth. Selfish and greedy, they were seen as uncaring about the problems that were rising in areas outside of the Delfs. Many, Kili knew to be of that mindset but some like himself and his family had experienced the hardships and learned how to share with others. He had learned how to be grateful in those days of the Blue Mountains for each new dawn and wish upon firemoons and falling stars.

As he packed the last of Tauriel’s gifts in separate pouches, Kili walked to Perphant who sat by the bellows as dusk fell upon Rivendell. The tongs and hammers along with the other instruments, he had already returned to the master earlier in the day. Now, he had some packing to do back in his room and long overdue discussion with Bain. He had neglected his friend and companion while trying to sort out his own turbulent feelings.

The dark haired Elf watched the falls as Kili drew near, his thumb rubbing a hammer’s teeth. This land, like so much of Imladris, was breathtaking but Kili felt his heart touched with melancholy and realized, not for the first time, that beautiful places were hard on lonely people. Maybe not Elves so much as the others who visited and healed. As the breeze wavered in the open doors, Kili found he was both nervous and sad to be leaving, more nervous to be in the presence of the August Elf. Perphant was a true crafter, something Kili had seen at once with little prompting.

Taking a small jeweled dagger from his satchel, Kili presented it to the Perphant. “I thank you, master Elf for the use of your forge.”

Perphant looked at him for a moment before taking the knife. “I didn’t give the permission, that was Lord Elrond Half Elven’s doing. This knife is of Dwarven make.”

“From the Hoard of Erebor.” Kili nodded to the Elf, trying again. “Lord Elrond did give me permission but you have been most helpful in your suggestions. I thank you for that. Namarie.”

The Elf’s head swung to look at him sharply. “Before you leave.” The Elf pulled a golden wood box from behind him, simple in design with a leaf pattern on the top. “Your knives are worthy and they should be cared for.”

Perphant opened the lid to pull two leather sheaths from within, finely tooled affairs with embossed leaves. “Your gifts are beautiful, master Dwarf and I think your lady will appreciate their craftsmanship.” He smiled as Kili gaped at him. “Yes, I know for whom you craft, young prince. Not all will appreciate the love you bear her but it is a gift of Varda that will lead you out of the dark and find your love again. Take these and live a happy life. Namarie.”

“Thank you, master Perphant.” The sheaths were a perfect fit for the blades as was the box. Kili could only assume that the master had measured the knives and crafted when the Dwarf wasn’t looking.

Kili took the box back to his rooms before going to the bathing rooms to wash. The time here in Rivendell had been fruitful. He had learned much from the Elves and about himself. The anniversary of his injury had come and gone as had Durin’s day at Erebor. Time might crawl in misery yet it seemed to be moving faster than the Anduin now as winter was quickly approaching. There had been no news from Fili or Dis though Kili had the presence of mind to ask a Raven to tell his family at the Lonely Mountain he was well. He was confident that if there were troubles there, Lord Elrond would have come to him.

Kili washed himself thoroughly, scraping the sludge from under his nails. His hair had some length again not quite the skull trim but he felt not the need to cut it back. That part was past, though the pain was still lay at the fringes of his mind and always would be, there was the possibility of a life with Tauriel. Kili knew that if he clung to the hurt, his life would never get better as he and his family wished.

He did trim his beard for the sake that an archer has no need of one. Rubbing his hand over his jaw, Kili smiled at the memory of Lord Elrond’s daughter showing how to clip and where to cut his hair and beard. Arwen had left for Caras Galadhon in days past. She would be there for the next few months, visiting her mother’s mother and father, the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. She had asked him to come and see her there if he was close but in the end, Kili had demurred. He hated to tell the lady he was afraid of half the stories of the Lady of Light he had heard over the years.

Heading back to his rooms along the many pathways, he wondered too if Tauriel had found some peace here, if she had walked these same pathways. The idea of being close and yet so far from her brought despair at the courses their lives had taken. Lord Elrond had been steadfast in resolve that their lives would connect again, that she had not died of wanting or wounded. No, she was waiting for him in the south, leagues from where he was now. Leagues from where they began six years ago.

“Good evening.” Kili spoke to the two Men as he walked up to Bain and Dorlad while they took their ease near the balcony below the guest sleeping quarters.

Bain smiled at him in welcome as did Dorlad for which he was grateful. It was a hard thing to ask forgiveness for his lack of presence in the last weeks. Kili could only pray that he could be absolved by his friend and his acquaintance for his lack of companionship. Dorlad was dressed in hunting leathers while Bain wore a simple tunic and pants. Each hand a tankard in hand while Dorlad smoked a pipe, making Kili wish for his own.

The night sounds became louder now that the sun had left their world and the sky lost its golden hue. A small contingent of Elves sang and played on a far balcony, some tune of love and light and wishes for more of the same. The birds sang their notes with the Elves in a harmony that was sweet in its discord.    

“How are you feeling, Kili?” Dorlad took his hand in greeting, smiling as if time had not passed since they had last spoke merely a few hours only.

He was good Man that way, as many of the Rangers proved in their journey to Rivendell. Kili had not seen his father, Dirhael in the passing time nor the other Dunedain. He had been so consumed by his failure to provide for his love and driven need to make things right with her that all else had fallen to the side. He could not and would not continue to live his life that way, expecting others to pick up the broken pieces of himself. He was a better friend than that or he could at least try.

“I am well, Dorlad. I thank you, and I thank you again for your company’s help in getting us here to Rivendell. It has been most appreciated.” His rehearsed speech felt awkward, but amends needed to be reach between he and Bain or the prince of Dale would be traveling back home without him. “Bain, I wish to apologize.”

The boy prince was on his feet, striding to him. Bain took his arm as well, holding fast to the Dwarf’s forearm. “There is nothing to forgive, my friend. There was too much pain, too much grief. It clouded your mind and heart. I do not know that kind of grief, nor would I want too. I stand with you, Kili, as I said I would in the beginning.”

The Dwarf and young Man embraced, a friendship renewed despite what could have evolved into ill feelings. Bain clapped him on the shoulder as they parted, making a joke about Dwarves needing taller boots. The jovial feelings continued as they found seats and began to discuss their next leg of travel. The weather had a chill now as winter ground its teeth in night air.

“Well if you go south, I have a mind to go along.” Dorlad said with a smile and drink.

Kili looked to Bain who shrugged. “Your people are here. Surely, you will be needed after your nephew’s arrives and the Rangers leave for the North.”

Dorlad shrugged, “It has been many years since I have been close to the White City, maybe you will find yourself there. Plus, Estel will be mothered and grandfathered within an inch of his life. At any road, do either of you speak Rohirric?”

“Isen does.” Bain told him with a grin and a laugh. “At least, he used to.”

“Well, if two is better than one, then three is better than two.” Kili looked to Bain who shrugged and nodded with a grin. “Dorlad, if you have leave of your father, you are welcome to join us. We leave two days from now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promisedddd.... Kili and what he has been up too! lol
> 
> I looked up some of the rudiments of blacksmithing for the things he might need in the forge.. I also looked up the timelines for crafting a Japanese short sword and the good ones take about a month. So with that in mind he probably spent about three weeks on the knives. I wanted him to have an activity in the meantime when he was taking a break from the knives and so that is why there were so many gifts. 
> 
> Still not a fan of Glorfindel.
> 
> Officially I have put The Road goes ever on on hold for those who are reading it too. I just don't have time to commit to a weekly update without putting out a chapter I don't like but that doesn't mean I am not still writing it. I am but I won't be posting any new chapters until after the Land that Might Have Been is complete. That means there will be more updates on this story so the ending will come that much faster. However, that will start in a week and some because my next 7 days at work will be mentally brutal.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night and day, under the hide of me  
> There's an, ooh, such a hungry yearning  
> Burning inside of me
> 
> And this torment won't be through  
> Till you let me spend my life making love to you  
> Day and night, night and day
> 
> ~Cole Porter - Night & Day~

Days after the scuttle of the Durin’s Day festival, no one person seemed to have caught their breath again. Just as one celebration ended, another was being planned as Fili wanted to do her father honor with the acknowledgement that Dale and Erebor were tied together in love and friendship. The idea made Sigrid weep on more than one occasion. It did until she had learned the true reason for this large overstuffed party.

Dis had confided that while the rumors were not as prolific as they had been a month ago, the opinions of late had been disturbing. Intelligence had been gathered from a certain Lady Eir that Herja was seeking to marry her friends into the line of Durin. The snotty Dwarrowdam was trying to convince the Lady Thrud to make a trip to the Iron Hills for a possible match with the Ironfoot’s heir, Thorin Stonehelm, though the Thrud was adamantly resisting. Lady Eir had also advised that her standing was not of her Herja’s first circle now as she had defied the instigator but she would still hear things. Herja could not afford to alienate the lord Chancellor’s apprentice scribe, but Lady Eir swore to the Lady Dis that she would repeat nothing without discussing it with the Queen and the King’s mother first.

The spectacle of Herja covered in the Queen’s sick had been the topic of conversation all the week long, drinking songs had been composed to it in the taverns by rowdy Dwarves. Bawdy verses of the Sunrise Queen as Sigrid was now referred became lengthy as the descriptions of her dispatching a lady of her court bordered on the hilariously obscene. Dis had been quite vocal in her praise while Fili had been moody. He had not liked being left in the dark for what his wife had planned but even he had been unable to hide his mirth from her for too long.

Sigrid had loved the gown she had worn, the sharp golden color with the mail had been a perfect choice for the tone of the night. The dress now hung in her clothing alcove, quite apart from her other garments as a shining symbol of her triumph. Each time she looked up its yellowy frills, it brought a smile to her lips for her slight victory. Fili had insisted she wear the headdress and crown to bed that night, exciting his ardor to a different level of passion. Never too tired for bedplay, Sigrid had obeyed him with the understanding he would be returning the favor for her in the future.

The Water Chamber, Sigrid’s new project, was coming along beautifully. Once the walls had been washed thoroughly once more, she had a better understanding of the patterns of jewels, mosaics and crests that had been mortared into the walls so many lifetimes ago. Sigrid had contacted some of the women in Dale who had a talent for embroidery for tapestries that they might have on hand. They were old friends from her childhood and she wanted to give them an opportunity for a sale just like she would the Dwarrows of the mountain. The ladies had been overwhelmed with the request, allowing her to only purchase two of what they considered their best work.

The wonderful blues and darker stitched grays on finished pieces reminded her of growing up on the lake with the sound of water lapping against the pylons holding up their house. She had brought a few of the Dwarrows who did embroider for the Tailor’s hall to the Water chamber so that they could match the same detail in floor pillows that would be scattered near her receiving chair. They had been most appreciative of the opportunity as well as working on the other hangings restoration for the chamber.  

Dis had a mind for the floor pillows for her ladies to sit. While Sigrid was taller than any in the mountain, the chair was representation of her right to sit tall in their presence. Low covered divans would be made, pushed against the wall or a few covered for people to sit close but no actual chairs. Two sideboards had been brought already, left in the center of the room until they found the other furniture.

Needing a bit of a breather, Sigrid had thought let Blain the stripling take the boys outside ahead of her while she sorted a few things with Hannar about ideas for the lighting in the chamber. Little Fian loved the idea of a play space, nodding and laughing when asked. It would be behind her dais, close enough so that Sigrid might watch over them. Vian had been teething recently, more little white edges slitting his gums. He had been up most of the night while Sigrid rocked him the fire. Fili had taken a turn at one point closer to dawn so that she could get some rest but it had been short lived. The poor child wanted his mother, not his long beard father. His wails had sent Fili to the Healing halls to Oin for ideas on how to soothe the poor child.

Dis would be joining her later or so she had said. Ravens had brought vague messages from Rivendell that Kili and Bain were safe. Tauriel had been there, recovering from her wounds but had travelled on with Lord Elrond’s sons. They were confident that Kili’s Elf would be found soon though Dis was beginning to worry. Kili’s messages were not morose or angry but very neutral. Sigrid thought her near mother’s anxiety was more along the lines of how long he would be gone from her to find his love. Dis called him reckless but was only happy when she could keep an eye or two on her youngest.

Sigrid walked into the breezy fall sun, the guards of the Gate at her back. Old man Winter was on his way and would not be denied his grasp on the Middle Earth. The sun would grow weaker in the heavens, giving light only but no real warmth. Winter freed the northern snows to blow from their icy heights to freeze the Great Gates closed, causing more work for the Dwarrows in the forges. The cisterns at the lowest levels required watching to make sure the cold didn’t rupture the pipes and harm the animals in the stables not far away.

Sigrid spied Herja and her gaggle on a blanket in the sunshine, looking off to their left. Following their gaze, she saw Fian playing with Blain while he held Vian in one arm. Looking back at the ladies, Sigrid didn’t like the expressions they had on their face as they watched her children. Herja’s least of all. Apprehension slithered down her spine, drying her mouth and chilling her bones.

“Masters, I require three knives please.” The Dwarrows looked at each other in misunderstanding, then back to the Queen. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

The three guards to her left each pulled matching dirks, small skinning blades used to dress meat. Unsure if it was by choice or accident, Sigrid took the knives with a murmured thank you before tucking the blades into a special lined pocket in her blue skirts. The steel was a comfort, a reminder that she wasn’t defenseless. Her mother and then a neighbor had taught her knife work early so that she had not been caught unawares.

Her growing years in Laketown had not been ideal or pleasant. Conditions for a population stacked one upon the other created a grinding pressure which could erode the moral decency to the rotten core underneath. There were men in the town who liked young girls, smelly dirty males who stared too long with too wide a grin. They would come across the lake to drink in the taverns and walk the streets at dusk for company. Once or twice a man had grabbed her with vicious intent but a quick cut on the hand or slice upon the inside thigh was enough for her to get away. There were stories that circulated on the landings of young girls who were not so lucky.

She walked down the causeway slowly, allowing any to mark her progress. The smile on her face was for her children but her attention scanned the meadow with concern. A few of the ‘dams fluttered in restless anxiety from their perch at Herja’s feet as Sigrid’s presence created a stir. They are like a flock of birds, Sigrid thought as they cast worried looks to herself and Herja. Gliding on the prevailing wind, they followed a leader they perceived was the strongest. It was a sad cast of the dice that they would be breeding the next generation of Dwarves with lackluster sensibilities and mercurial honor.

Blain spotted her first and at the distance she could see the strain in his smile that he gamely tried to hold for her boys. Whatever Herja’s actions were before she arrived, it had been words only else Blain would have taken her sons to safety. The nasty ‘dam in question did not acknowledge her as she continued to methodically stuff her face with candies, looking down the entire time. Sigrid knew this to be a ploy to tell the Queen that she was below the notice of a Dwarrowdam. What a petty creature.

Young Fian squealed with delight at the sight of her, running on stout legs away from his keeper. Blain passed her a happy smile but Sigrid saw his eyes slide to her right in concern. Yes, something was happening here before she arrived. Her boy babbled about the rocks he had found in stilted sentences compressed of his limited vocabulary. Sigrid knew that Dwarf children were not even speaking at his age, many still crawling on all fours.

The murmuring beside her was not audible over the adorable laughter of her children. Smiling, Sigrid looked up from the face of her cherub Fian. “Did you say something, Herja?”

The Dwarf woman’s back stiffened as Sigrid passed her a cunning smile further ruffling the ladies in attendance. “I said nothing to you.”

“That is a shame.” Sigrid placed a kiss on Fian’s head before passing a hand over his curls. “I had hoped the incident at Durin’s day was forgotten. Pregnant women cannot always choose the time and place of their stomachs to become unsettled. You will know of what I speak when you marry and bear children of your own.”

Sigrid privately snorted to herself as the Dwarrowdam’s head swiveled like an hawk, zeroing in on a target. Yes, Sigrid thought as she watched the expression with interest, come for me and see what you get. With a pat to his head, Fian ran to Blain whose expression held a fearful cast. The Stripling picked up Vian to chase after his brother, away from the coming anger. Blain was a smart Stripling, better at picking up moods and emotional currents than others of the Dwarf race. It wasn’t the first time, Sigrid had thought to ask if he would like to be a more permanent member of her Court.

Herja had more than a fair dose of pride and needling her at her weakness would be a match to ignite her ire. The red purpling of her cheeks was an indication that Sigrid was doing a fine job of lighting temper to a combustible flame. The Queen wanted her angry, to push her beyond being simply rude. The ‘dams would continue to follow her unless Sigrid did more than vomit on vicious canker’s dress. She had to be able to fight her own battles, not run to Fili and Dis to do it for her. In good times and bad, a Queen always stood on her own shoes, not on the backs of others.

“I care not for your platitudes, False Queen. Another will sit at the King’s right hand once your life is used up. Your half castes will be expelled from our home to wander the Wilderlands like the mongrels that they are if they be the King’s get at all. I wonder how many Lake Men you allowed between your thighs before the King married you for pity!” The Dwarrowdam huffed to her feet, spitting like a snake that she was. Herja made to shove Sigrid out of her way but the Laketown girl rose up in the Queen, bracing her upper body for the blow and the retaliation.

Sigrid had expected a response, a snip or a cutting glance but not this rubbish and so blatantly. The Dwarrowdam presumed to call her children half caste, shovel insults and trade slander with Dale’s inhabitants on the state of her marriage. _False!_ Sigrid had no doubt who had started the rumors nor did any of the others on the council based on what they now knew from the gentle Lady Eir. The ‘dam blighted their home for her own selfish gains that had only one end. The Throne. But Sigrid would have none of it, never yield to the preening female who thought herself above all others to speak to her Athane so viciously. There was only one Queen under the Mountain and her name was not Herja of Ered Luin!

“You dare call me false?! Impugn mine honor as if you have the right! Speak ill of my sons and our King!” Sigrid pushed off the Dwarrowdam as Herja at once tried to shoulder her way past, hooking a foot around Herja’s lower leg to trip her.

The Dwarrowdam went sprawling with a scream, face first onto the meadow’s dying grass. The other ‘dams stumbled back quickly, away from the confrontation. There was no fear in their eyes as they watched the events unfold but offered no aid to one side nor the other. Sigrid marked each of their faces as she drew her knives. She would not forget them, not today nor in a week. Amad Dis had been correct that there were those among the women who could not be trusted. They would be dealt with too but not today. Herja’s time had come.

“This is blasphemy! I am a Dwarrowdam of Erebor! None shall raise a hand to me!” Herja bellowed in outrage as she tried to take a swing at Sigrid to knock her back as she attempted to raise up to her knees.

The Queen danced away, spinning to kick the Dwarrowdam’s hand and prevent the meaty fist from making contact with her body. With a heave, Sigrid threw the knife down into the back of Herja’s dress. Using her boot heel, she pushed knife deeper into the soil until it crunched into the bedrock with a jolt. The ‘dam screamed and wrestled with her skirts as Sigrid threw her second knife, giving it the same treatment. Herja was pinned to the ground by the train of her very pretty red dress as the blond drew her final blade.

Slapping aside the Dwarrowdam’s backhanded swing, Sigrid grabbed a hold of the Dwarf’s beard to put the point of the knife under her ear. “Now. We were discussing my reign and who and who may not lay a hand upon you?”

Sigrid knew she was alone, knew that there were three other Dwarrowdams that could rush to the aid of their friend held captive. The young Stripling behind her tried to soothe her boys, something that Sigrid herself longed to do. There would be no help from him. However, she was aware that if she let go of Herja’s beard and turned her back on this wretched female, it could be her worst mistake. Maybe a fatal one. There were a few other Dwarrows in the distance with puzzled looks on their faces as well as the guards at the gate. But who would they assist if she called out to them? The Queen or one of their own?

The indecision ate at her as poor Fian wailed for her, begging for her in tears and screams. “Well Herja? What shall it be?”

The venom spewing from her mouth almost justified Sigrid cutting a smile in Herja’s neck. The precariousness of her situation would get only worse as time passed. Holding the ‘dam by her beard gave her advantage but only just. She could feel hoof beats and hear them in a distance moving fast over the ground as Herja twisted and yelled to get free . Sigrid spared a look up to see Healer Wheat and her white haired assistant riding hard up the meadow. A timely interruption if ever there was one, thanking the gods of both Men and Dwarves, the blond queen gave a smile to the visitors.

Willa jumped from the back of her horse, yanking her sword from its sheath at the saddle. “Ithiel, take the babes and the stripling to his majesty. Do not stop until you reach him! Queen Sigrid, I pledge my sword into your service!”

“Fian baby, all is well. Is it time for your visit already, Willa?” Sigrid tried to sound calm but her anger and relief were dueling emotions making her hands shake. “I take your sword, healer Willa Wheat. Your honor and courage I count as my own from this day forth. Your actions shall be in my service, this I swear to Mahal.”

Young Ithiel, a lad no older than Bain, grabbed the Fian putting him before him. Fian thrashed in the saddle still screaming for his mother but Sigrid dared not move to comfort her babe. The assistant tugged the small Dwarf behind him while Blain still hung on to a crying Vian. The boy laid his heels, kicking his horse to speed up meadow. Ithiel knew his business, holding on to Fian as the stripling at his back locked Vian between the two of them. The children’s crying began to fade, giving Sigrid a sense of relief that they were away.   Willa placed herself with sword raised at the three Dwarrowdams to one side, watching them with steely determination.

“The Queen! Look to the Queen!” Healer Wheat shouted to the guards who walking in confusion down the causeway. “Get moving, you lugheads!”

The guards moved, now trotting low with outstretched spears in a sprint that could eat the ground into nothing. Several of the onlookers rushed now that they realized something was indeed amiss. Before anyone could gainsay her, Sigrid spoke low to Willa.

“I require your assistance.” Looking at the healer, the Queen motioned to ‘dams dress. “Cut two thick strips from the bottom and bind her hands.”

Healer Wheat rushed to obey, watching the other Dwarrowdams while she drew a small blade to cut the fabric. The ripped sound of was soft, giving Sigrid another idea. It was a truly evil idea. Once Herja’s hands were tied behind her back, Willa took her sword once more in a ready stance against the others.

Sigrid’s voice rang in the valley, bouncing off the mountain itself. “Herja, Daughter of Braedi, Dwarrowdam of Erebor and Ered Luin. You will be taken to your apartments in the residence hall to be confined until our King pronounces judgement for your attempted assault and slander of my person.”

Grabbing Herja by her braids, Sigrid yanked her head backwards until she could stare the female in the face. The Queen wanted Herja’s face for the last. “For the insult you laid upon the honor of my sons, I will take your braids!”

A gasp rose from the onlookers as Sigrid began to saw into the intricate ropes of hair that circled the Dwarrowdam’s head. Herja struggled, crying for someone to help her. The screams turned to whining keens as pieces of the dark hair floated on the breeze. The curses became almost distinct from her spittled lips that what Sigrid was doing was cruel and vicious to her. One or two of her friends cried as well with soft tears when the Queen moved onto Herja’s beard, even scraping down the long jet black hairs to a mere stubble at her jaw.

Knocking an elbow into the back of her head, Sigrid pushed Herja forward until she was on her face again. “Guards. Take her to her apartments.”

Herja sobbed and wailed, humiliated, as the guards led her away. The long stripes of her dress that Willa had cut tore further with each step, the militant Dwarrows gave her no solace. Her head that had held such pretty braids now looked like a shaved baby troll, with tuffs of hair in spots to pair with bald skull. Sigrid had spared her nothing, not even her beard.

The botched hair cut had been another level of disgrace, it would be discussed and rounded about her crossing the Queen of Erebor. Herja would be marched the length of the mountain where any could see her public disfigurement. Even here, many wore the look of astonishment that a ‘dam could be so punished and for what crime had she commited, they whispered.

“Queen Sigrid, we must away to your husband.” Willa spoke quietly. “Take my horse and ride for the mountain.”

Sigrid looked to the Gates of Erebor to see Oin with axe in hand and his erstwhile son, Burin sprinting to them. “I have one last job to perform. But I will take your horse.”

Oin and Burin stopped beside Willa’s horse, panting heavily. “Are you injured, Athanu men?”

“I am well, Oin. Please escort Healer Wheat to my quarters. Burin, there is something I need to do and you will assist me.” Sigrid commanded as she reached down to pull the blades from the ground that had pinned Herja’s most effectively. Both Oin and Burin bowed low to her, showing support as scrapes of the red dress floated down the meadow.

Sigrid handing two of the knives to Willa as she passed, mounting the horse swiftly. The ‘dams who were of Herja’s circle eyed her and Willa nervously but otherwise said nothing. Sigrid stared at them until them lowered their eyes in respect. Never a confident horsewoman, Burin put a hand on the bridle to lead the horse to the Gates. It was a slow progression, many of the people bowing to her while others did so only after looking to their neighbors for instruction.

The Dwarves of Erebor were Durin’s Folk, Longbeards besides. They were hardy, tough and good people and they would be once more. Herja might have been once too, Sigrid reflected as she watched the disgraced female pass the gates to the gasps and pointing of the closest at the doors. Once she might have been a Dwarrowdam of substance and quality but greed, anger and hate had taken root to twist her into a monstrous thing.

Fili and Balin appeared at the Gates with Dis, likely to have run the entire way. More guards spilled out of the door and Sigrid motioned them forward. “Take this animal to the stables and see to its care. Burin, follow me.”

Approaching her husband and near mother, Sigrid swept into a low curtsy. Fili’s eyes were full of questions, he had to have seen Herja as he ran past to reach her. Yet, he said nothing. He offered his hand to her and lead her into the mountain, understanding this was her doing and would support her where ever it led. Dis bowed her head to Sigrid with a look of astonishment on her face. Whatever plans had been laid already by the King's mother would have to be changed in light of this entanglement. Herja could not be allowed to roam free in Erebor, Sigrid could not allow it for the Dwarrowdam would surely seek revenge.

Sigrid put the braids in one hand, placing her left on Fili’s. She wanted nothing of Herja to touch her husband, not even a brush. It wasn't superstition but just a need to protect him as much as possible from the 'dam's foulness. Dis eyed the twisted hair in her hand but said nothing, giving her nod. There would be time for the discussion later with her mentor on what the next move might be.

Burin tromped behind them two spaces away, keeping any of the anxious Dwarves from crowding the couple. The whispers were closer to a low roar now, many gasping and pointing to Sigrid who held the offending hair out from her body for all to see. The procession arrived at the Gallery of the Kings, where Sigrid stopped just the entrance.

“Burin, none shall pass.” Sigrid didn’t look to the Dwarf but stood spine straight. Fili stood tall himself at her regal tone.

“Athanu Men, it will be as you command.” Burin’s voice was as loud as hers, echoing off the high ceilings of the chamber.

The Gallery of the Kings had been a splendorous achievement of Dwarven design, tall pillars and smooth gleaming floors. Gold statures of long dead Dwarves of the line of Durin still held a place of honor in this hall with stone braziers at their feet, all kings of Erebor. The dragon Smaug had ripped the door to shreds in his attempt to reach Laketown to burn it and its people to the waterline. Sigrid looked down as she walked forward at the floor with its deeping glow. The gold that had coated the floor in Thorin’s attempt to stop the Dragon was gone with new stone laid now and the entrance repaired. A beginning, she thought as she neared the Great Hearth, it had been the start of a new age for the Kingdom under the Mountain.

The stone blocks that had been used to form the mold of King Thror’s gigantic statue had been repurposed into the foundation for an intricately carved fireplace. Runes and Khudzul writings had been carved into stone, battles and names of Heroes long dead. Once created, Fili had lit a torch from its blaze to take down and relight doused furnaces and forges below as symbolic gesture that the flames of Erebor arose not from a drake but a common hearth of its people. All were welcome here before it to partake of its heat and a mug of beer. The fireplace itself was wide enough to hold large tree trucks or cook a whole cow at once.

Sigrid stopped before the mantle with Fili at her side to stare at the large representation of Dwarves in attack poses like the ones outside the gates. She would give her life for her husband and her sons. When she became Queen under the Mountain, Sigrid agreed to give her life for her Kingdom and her people. The Dwarves were her people, now whether they liked it or not.

“Mahal, Great Smith of the Dwarves. You are the beginning and the end of our race, both father and mother to us all.” Sigrid prayed to stone carved hammer and anvil above the blazing heat, her voice ringing down the deep hall. “I took vengeance upon one of your children before the halls of her fathers.” Tossing the braids in the hearth, Sigrid continued. “I humbly ask you not for forgiveness but understanding. She is a villain and I will not suffer her poison in this Kingdom where so many have given their lives in its defense. Dragons, Orcs, Trolls could not bring down the Durin’s Folk, nor shall greed. I swear on your heath and the light it brings to us all. ”

 

***************

It was a night of icy silver radiance, when the very stars seemed on alive with the bluest fire. Her stars, their stars. One such night, her and Kili had crept from their mountain chamber as a brisk north wind playfully danced through his hair and the beloved impish grin tugged his full lips. Winter was coming then as it was now. Another year gone, another year wasted. Tauriel had faith in the Lord of Rivendell but even her patience and strength were not without limits.

Dread ate her middling, curling her shoulders as if the grief tonight weighed her down more in the lonely life she had chosen thanks to an oath given to a mad man. The cold sterile life was just that, an existence to endure until she could find her love once again. Her bed felt huge and empty, and when Tauriel slept, she did so with her arm around a pillow. She dreamed of him almost every night of late, sometimes the few good dreams of happy days and joyful times; often they were terrible dreams of abandonment, loss and sorrow.

Tauriel didn't know which was worse in those early hours. Each morning she woke afresh to the knowledge that he was gone from her, removed from her arms by his kin. Dragging herself from the straw filled mattress had become a labor, an odious chore that blanked her mind but never the churning feelings of longing. She missed him, needed him. Season after season, year after year. None had lived so long without their mate in her memory. A different Elf in a different life would have succumbed by now, unable to live any longer without their love. An Elf would have walked into the forest to lay under the trees or taken a blade to themselves to cast their Fea into their starlight.

But she stayed in this world.. She endured… and it was killing her just the same albeit at a slower pace.

The day would progress with the ache blending into the background as one task or another occupied her mind with a singularity of its own. The young soldier Werrmund was becoming troublesome today, chattering like a lark in the newborn sun. He tagged behind her with a self-important air which braised her like nothing else could. The urge to speak with Lord Aeldklif for a different rotation was strong and getting stronger. It would be a defeat but the lord could not ask one of his men to suffer unwanted attentions. The Man was firmly gentle to his horse, kind to the ladies of the Keep, and a good companion to his fellows. However, Werrmund could not understand that she wanted none of him, not today nor in the future.

The last of the ague that had plagued them was nearing the end. The ones who had survived were recovering slowly but also preparing to return to their homes. The Lady Alfgiva had lost her mother in the bout of illness which had swept to the far reaches of the Kingdom and beyond its borders. The stalwart lady had walked the torch to the funeral pyre herself, catching the blazing end to the dry wood. Her husband and daughters, Arnorra and Lifa stood at her back while the fires engulfed the diseased flesh, burning it to ash.

The Lady had rebounded though, bustling around the Keep with the same efficiency of her earlier days. Her grief was a private thing, if she cried, it was never in view of others. Tauriel knew she wasn’t a cold woman, the loss had affected her. The Lady Alfgiva took on a project of marrying her daughters while her sons were sent to their king to the southeast. A busy mind was a happy mind, the Lady was heard to say on many occasions. Messengers had been sent to several nearby holdings and some had responded by sending sons for the prospect of the Lord’s daughter.

“I cannot understand why they are calling for all of these new suitors for the young ladies. There are Men here aplenty who would take them to wife.” Werrmund spoke loud over the clumping of shod hooves in the cobblestones. The brightly colored banners of the Gondorian lord fluttered in the breeze.

Tauriel stepped away before she could be seen by the new arrivals. Many would demand answers why Lord Aeldklif would have an Elf retainer. “It is the way of your race. Infuse new blood to the house so that the offspring will have a stronger chance at life. If you marry into your own family, the line will weaken in the continuing generations.”

“That is why sometimes marrying outside of your race gives your children an advantage.” His words were honeyed with interest that angered her instantly.

Tauriel stepped away to go inside but called to him as he tried to follow. “Go assist the stable master, I will tell Lady Alfgiva of the arrivals.”

Not waiting to see if her command was obeyed, Tauriel rushed through the door to the main hall. The disgust didn’t abate even as she strode into the Lady’s chamber. He was too bold, this man and one day he might find an Elvish blade in his gullet. Bowing her head with a straight posture, the Elf could see that she was late as one of the maids gushed on about the new party that had arrived from Lebennin.

“Ahhh.. my Lady Elf.. have you seen the new guests as well?” Lady Alfgiva bore a winning smile though careworn if any looked upon her. The maid bobbed a curtsy before scurrying from the room like a frightened mouse.

The bustle would begin all over once more as the two young daughters were paraded before the sons like fillies coming into season. One of those customs that the she Elf had yet to understand about women in this region was their value was only as high as others put upon them. Elves had no such notions of price or value on those they loved. Gifts were given to the families of the betrothed but not as a payment! The ladies had little say in the process though Lord of the Keep loved his daughters to distraction, taking their wishes into account over his wife’s.

“I have, my lady. Werrmund is now going to assist the Stable master.” Tauriel looked over the lady clad in her mourning apparel. With her Iron gray hair and pale gray eyes, she was still very attractive at her age.

“Ahhh..Werrmund. He seems to be in your company often of late.” The speculative gleam shone in her eyes as she moved to take a cloak from the chair to leave the room. “You could do far worse than he. Fostered here since he was six from Aldburg, his father was a Marshall of the Mark.”

It had not been the first time this conversation had risen lately, although not with Werrmund in mind. In times gone by, other men had stepped forward hoping to court the deadly Elf lass who was as good with her bow as her blades. It had taken a quietly worded refusal for them to understand Tauriel had no interest though Werrmund was a Man of a different stubborn sort.

“I do not think that would be advisable, my Lady.” Tauriel refused to elaborate, hoping the Alfgiva would not continue this path nor give hope to the young Man where nothing could come of it.

The idea of forsaking her vow, of shattering her pledge made her blood pound in her ears. None here knew of her past, keeping it much to herself. When Tauriel had parted ways with the Elladan and Elrohir many years ago, the quiet valley had appealed to her. It had been a soothing balm to her wounded spirit. Now of late, the seclusion was beginning to feel like a cage and the reasons for being here became less with each new moon. Mayhap, she should travel to Rivendell in the spring if only to be closer to Erebor.

“Nonsense. There are half Elvens to be found away to the west. He is young and will give you strong sons.” The Lady continued as if that were all Tauriel could ever want in her long life. Half Elven children she wanted but not with Werrmund.

Again the Elf lass demurred, “I believe your own daughter, Lady Lifa, bears a tendre for the young Man.”

Her words wrinkled a frown on the lady’s face. “Well, if he is not to your liking. I cannot espouse him to you if I thought him unfit for mine own flesh.”

The Alfgiva settled the cloak on her shoulders with a sigh as they left the room together. Tauriel decided to escort the lady as far as the upper bailey and avoid the guests at the Lord’s table tonight. Tauriel’s boots made no sound on the stone floors as they navigated the winding passages. The woman kept up an endless stream of chatter as they came closer to their destination.

“I suppose Lifa should have her choice, but her wedding would not be so grand as Arnorra’s. I would have loved to go the royal Dwarf wedding at Erebor. Many travelers spoke of nothing for weeks.” Alfgiva groaned as they used the last stairs before the upper bailey wall.

“What marriage at Erebor?” Tauriel asked in confusion as a niggle of doubt invaded her mind.

“It was some years ago. One of the royal Dwarves at the Lonely Mountain. The King’s brother, I think married a princess of Dale.” The chattering magpie of a lady walked away still talking about jewels and finery. She never saw Tauriel sink to the floor behind her, tears streaming down her cheeks.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there is another cliffhanger.. lol please no throwing things ! lol..I had not planned to post another chptr on Tauriel until Kili left Rivendell but I got caught in a gossip round last week and it gave me the inspiration for this chptr. Gossip is fun sometimes in large companies but if you get it wrong it can hurt someone..  
> A few things… yes.. the Lord Aelfklif is old English for old cliff.. Lifa is old Norse for Life.. important .. Ithiel a Sindarin name means moon..Herja’s father’s name Braedi was the name of a dragon in the Legendarium.  
> Werrmund was the king of the Angles and father of Offa, might have been a grandson of Woden..My Werrmund is of the House of Eorl and a right git..  
> The saying in the story ‘the queen stands on her own shoes’ was something my dad taught me when I was learning to play chess as a child. I kept forgetting how to reset the board after I would lose so spectacularly. Still can’t play well.. lol  
> Sigrid is baddass.. while Dwalin is being a stubborn ass..


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cold be heart and hand and bone,  
> Cold be travelers far from home,  
> They do not see what lies ahead  
> when sun has failed and moon is dead!
> 
> Gollum from Lord of the Rings...

Fili sat on his throne, watching the petitioners with a detached air. Indolently lazing on his elbow as each stepped forward for a recommendation or request to settle a disagreement, Balin handled most of the requests by using precedent cases but always looking to Fili to make the final judgement. Sometimes if Dis or Sigrid was in attendance they would look to him before speaking so that they may also be heard. It was a good system they had, Balin knowing the law, the women chiming in if they wished, and Fili being the last stop in the judicial process. It reminded everyone in the Kingdom under the Mountain that Fili wore the crown but he was open to other opinions and thoughts.

These were his people, he thought to himself as a Dwarrow submitted a request to increase plowshare and farm implement production over the winter and sell in Lossarnach as spring broke in the Gondorian province. They came together in craft and ingenuity for the betterment of their Kingdom. Like this Dwarrow who had the forethought to understand that farmers in the heavy agricultural region would need new equipment before planting. Who knew better than Dwarves on creating anything of heavy metal?

Elves might have secrets of metal too but nothing that could withstand heavy use in the King’s opinion.

Fili tried and tried as he sat on the throne to concentrate but his mind slipped again to the scene yesterday of his wife and the actions she was forced to do. Immense pride flooded his soul as he remembered Sigrid riding up the causeway to the Gates, back straight and full of steel, Herja’s braids in hand as if they were a trophy of war. The light of battle and flush of victory brightened her eyes and cheeks but she said not a word as she strode to the Gallery of Kings on his arm, tossing the severed pieces of hair into the Great Hearth. She had practically vibrated in her rage as she spoke a vow to the Great Smith against those who would harm them.

Fili loved his wife, knew from the beginning that he would love her always. But this side of her, the aspect of her personality that was both strong and reckless frightened him a little. Sigrid had been firm in her opinions last night while relaying all that transpired and what had led her to such desperate measures. She had not heedless of the danger she had been in or their unborn child. Had one of the ‘dams tried to come to Herja’s aid, she or the babe growing inside her or both could have been lost. Sigrid was through with dancing to another’s tune when her own melody should be the one played. She had quite simply had enough of the baggage that was stirring up problems in their life.

Balin had stopped him early when Sigrid had left to take the children to her Water Chamber that there was dissent already over what some considered a vicious attack on a Dwarrowdam. None of the murmurings spoke of the sewage that Herja had levied upon their Queen or the princes, only that a Dwarrowdam was being wronged by the Throne. The elder of Durin’s line laid his thinking in plain terms that Herja’s circle of ladies were moving in the background and reaching out to the Dwarrows they trust to spread the rumor. Balin did not ask about what sentence the King would levy upon Herja’s head only wanting Fili to understand Erebor’s current climate. Balin had thought to begin more open sessions so that the general population of the mountain could see the inner workings of their government, not the backhanded news of uninformed or malicious gossips.

Balin forwarded the motion to the merchant Dwarrow but Fili only gave a disinterested nod. He didn’t want to be in the Throne room, putting forth a good face against the unrest. He wanted to be back in his chambers snuggling into his One, making sure she was safe and protected by his axe. Men and their children were different creatures, Sigrid might not always want to be closeted. But the dominant instinct to provide, to shelter, and care for his One was not something he could change in himself even if he would wish. “Thanu Men!” A dwarrow pushed through the crowds, passed the Dwarrows in line for an audience. “I would ask you, King Fili, why is a Dwarrowdam of good blood being held against her will and treated with such disrespect?”

Three of the royal guards rushed forward, clamping hands on the loudmouth who had shoved his opinion before the king. He was young, Fili guessed as he looked the male over with a critical eye, a shallow depth miner who had not earned the right yet to explore the deeps. Fili sat up on the throne of his ancestors, letting his hand fall to the top of his axe handle. The action was not missed by the restrained Dwarrow, who eyes widened at the implication of what his rashness could bring upon his head.

“Who are you and what is Herja to you?” Fili’s voice boomed, quieting the assembly until only the crackling logs and hissing pops were heard.

“I am Loki son of Dauki. The Lady Herja is an injured party, Thanu Men, we protect our Dwarrowdams and have since the Seven Fathers drew the breath that Iluvatar granted them.” The Dwarf spoke emphatically, looking around for support from the crowd of Dwarves.

Fili’s anger rose at such an obvious display of grandstanding, his impatience overruling the young Dwarf’s teachings of respect towards the Throne. This young welp had come before his Thane and this assembly as Herja’s mouthpiece, to spout her silvered pleas and golden promises. Or stir trouble in an already embattled court. The ‘dam was rotten to her worm laden core, but what part this Dwarrow had was yet to be known.

Fili took his axe in his left hand to place it up his shoulder as he took walked down the steps to the bottom. Balin drew near his side along with a few others. “You have not said of your relationship, Loki son of Dauki. What is Herja to you?”

“A Dwarrowdam in need, my King. Why did you allow this?” There was a soft rebuke in his tone that shot Fili’s anger to another level.

Staring at the miner, he asked. “What would you do for your wife, good Dwarf?”

“Anything! She would be my greatest treasure!” The words spilled over the mass of Dwarves in a wave to which they all agreed, heads bobbing in unison as they looked to each other.

Fili wanted to clear the hall and discuss the problems with this Dwarrow one to the other but that would never do. One voice was not always enough to convince a hundred or a thousand. The right Dwarf could influence a multitude with the right words and blessed timing. However, Fili felt he wasn’t that Dwarf. Fear for his family and rage at what they were dealing with robbed him utterly of the ability, but he could try.

“Loki, son of Dauki. I understand your concerns for what you consider a wronged individual. Lady Herja attempted assault on my Queen, spoke evil slander upon her honor. The precedent for such would call for her head immediately were she a Dwarrow.” Fili stopped to draw breath as he lifted his axe so that the sharp edge cut the air and sang to the males in front of him. “I promise you, this axe would have done the deed. But she is not a Dwarrow and we do not kill our females. So the punishment that my beautiful Queen exacted by taking her braids and beard is fitting for the moment until I decided further. But she will remain in her quarters under guard.”

The males stared at him and many nodded in agreement. The Dwarrow looked confused, probably only hearing half of the true events before he rushed to the Lady Herja’s defense. Fili felt pity but stomped it down, pity wouldn’t get his family through these dark times. They would all need to come together to change the course of what Fili could see in Erebor’s future.

The darkness of hate and greed from other lands and races slouched from the shadows with icy fingers outstretched towards them all. Dain and his anger from the Iron Hills had been quiet of late, but by no means finished in his attempts stem the tide returning to the Mountain. Reports of dead Spiders found along the Long Lake by the inhabitants was pushing the fear into the Lake Men like a forest fire to stampede the wildlife. A plague from the South, a great illness of Men had swept through Rohan and Gondorian provinces, killing many but had made no further incursion North. Through all of these concerns, his brother was still out amongst it all with a young Princeling Man to watch his back.

“Gentleman, I would call for an hour break and then we will proceed again. Young Loki, son of Dauki, your earnest nature is appreciated, have no doubt, though in the future I would advise hearing both sides of the argument before making a decision.” A few of the Dwarrows chuckled at his words with Loki blushingly nodding with a smile.

Balin smiled at him in agreement as Fili put his axe back at the side of his Throne for future interlopers. He clapped the chancellor on the back with a smile of his own but it only reach his lips and no further. They would dispatch one enemy but others rose up in its place. The feasting, the cheer and celebration did nothing to pull the concern from his brow at the worries that roamed each day and prowled at him in the night. Fili had wished so much that Tauriel had been waiting for Kili in Rivendell all this time, now his brother was travelling south and to find what at the end of his journey. A grave? Her married to another?

“Thanu Men.” Burin stepped from the side to intercept Fili before he reached the door leading to the back council chambers.

Fili stopped abruptly at the sight of his childhood friend, his anxious expression striking a cord of alarm deep inside. “What has happened?”

“Uz Oini and Healer Wheat asked me to bring you to the Royal Hall if you took a break…” Before he could finish, Fili was sprinting for his chamber uncaring if his old friend followed.

Fear clamped down hard on his throat as he raced up stairs and turned corners only to just miss plowing into someone or hitting the opposite wall in his haste. Burin called behind him, but Fili didn’t stop, scared and worried that something had happened to his love or their child. Shouting commenced and murmuring Dwarrows swirled in his wake but Fili refused to slow or acknowledge them. The cold blank feeling left by the iron grip of his fear squeezed his heart and lungs as he slid to a stop in the open door of the Royal chambers.

The sight before was startling, laying waves of confusion to crash against his churning anxiety. Standing before the hearth was Oin and Healer Wheat in what could only be described as an interestingly erotic moment by Dwarven standards. The Lady was humming with a smile as she traced a finger down the old Dwarf’s nose to tug at one of his moustache braids. While the pull wasn’t sharp, Oin stood before her with his eyes closed to emit a soft moan of pleasure. The old Dwarf’s thick fingers held the woman at her hips, kneading into the fabric of her skirts. Seeing these particular individuals in such a state was akin to a pig and an Oliphant having relations in the Long Lake. Fili found himself slightly embarrassed at having witnessed such a private moment before he remembered himself and where he was. If the Healer Wheat was engaging into such activities in his receiving area, Sigrid must not be in immediate danger.

Coughing loudly, Fili fought not to laugh at the couple as they jumped apart with the nimble acuity of a two cats which had been doused with cold water. “I hate to interrupt Oin’s braid play but has something happened to the Queen?”

Burin had finally caught up with Fili, barely out of breath despite wearing weapons and armor. The Dwarf was in excellent shape as member of the Royal Guard under Dwalin’s meticulous devotion to duty. Mostly in Oin’s company on his days off rotation from the Gate Watch, he had a solid trustworthy nature that Fili had appreciated more than once in their life in Ered Luin. The King spared Burin a glace before focusing once more on the couple.

With a slightly irritated sniff, Burin shook his head in mock disapproval at the sight of the Oin’s sheepish expression. “What were they doing now?”

Oin growled at Burin as Healer Wheat cut him off by taking a step forward. She acted as if what they had been doing was commonplace and of no account, making Fili almost grin. “The Queen grew tired by midmorning, nothing to put you in such a state, good King. I want her to rest today and tomorrow. She’s asleep right now. The Princess has the young Princes with her in the Queen’s room.”

Fili released a sigh of relief, automatically thinking the worst. “But she is well?”

Oin grabbed his trumpet from his back pocket so that he might hear the exchange. The older Dwarf took another step away from the object of his affection only to earn a snickered ‘caught’ from Burin for his trouble. Poor Oin’s face was redder than fire as he kept sneaking glances at the lady beside him as he wrapped himself tighter in his coat. Fili decided looking at anything else in the room was preferable to whatever Oin was attempting to hide.

Willa answered with a smile as she smoothed down her vest. “Yes, I think she is a bit overwrought from yesterday’s events and this business of preparing that large room for herself. The Queen will need naps in the coming months in between bouts of regular exercise.”

“We are fortunate that you are still on hand, Healer Wheat.” Looking between her and the Kingdom’s chief healer, Fili continued with a smile. “I take it you have decided to stay with us here at the mountain? Oin can be quite convincing when it comes to something he wants.”

The older Dwarf grumbled something with a shake of his head about needing to return to the healing halls as Fili was unable to repress his laughter further, only letting a few chuckles escape. A sharp clatter behind him and Burin’s light gasp let him know that Oin had paid the miscreant back for his snarky comments of a few moments previously. Healer Wheat merely shook her head at their antics.

“Thanu Men, I will return to check the gates with your permission.” Burin didn’t immediately leave but waited for his King’s leave to go as was proper, despite their long years of each other’s company. Fili found his respect for the Dwarf went up a little higher.

“Stay for a moment more, there is something I need to discuss with you.” Burin bowed his head but took station outside the open door to allow Fili privacy with the Healer.

Willa looked to him now with a smile. “Yes, I will stay here four days a week. But I will need to go to Dale if there is an emergency and assist in regular checkups of the elders there. The spring will bring more accidents as planting will begin and they will need the extra hands.”

“I have heard reports that the sickness in the south as spread to Rohan but stopped there so far. I would never stand between a healer and the sick. You are considered Dwarf Friend and may enter and leave as you will.” Fili smiled at the lady in welcome. Willa picked up her satchel by the fireplace in preparations to leave until the King stopped her as she passed. “I feel I should mention however, touching or tugging a Dwarrow’s braids is allowed only after the conditions of Betrothal have been satisfied. It is a sign of serious affection that can lead to ….well… intimacy between the pair.”

He was trying to be delicate, unsure of what she knew of Dwarven culture and the correlation between braids and sex. Fili was taken aback by her lazy smile of satisfaction. “Well that would explain how excited he gets when I rub them. Hmmm, something to remember in the future.”

The Dwarrows stared at each other in shock as the strawberry blond flounced out of the room with a little skip in her step. Fili broke the silence first with a snicker. “Oin’s in trouble.”

“Yeah, but I think he likes it.” Burin shook his head as he walked into the room and shut the door. “You wanted to speak to me?”

Fili walked to the sideboard for a tankard of ale. He motioned for the Dwarrow to take his ease as he pour himself a full mug before indicating that Burin was allowed to do the same. His old friend refused but settled comfortably in the chair. The room was warm thanks to the fire but Fili still tossed another log into the blaze for Sigrid and her comfort.

Taking a seat beside Burin, he began. “Yestersdays dealings has reminded me that things are not as I would have them here. Sigrid is my One, my deepest heart and I know that I will not be with her always which pains me more than I can express to another. So I need you to help me and be there for her protection when I can not. My Queen likes you and I trust you, so I would ask, not command you to consider being part of her personal guard.”

Burin bowed his head immediately. “Whatever you ask or demand of me, I will serve. You are my King, and a true friend besides. You humble me with your trust, Thanu Men. I would give my life for you and your family.”

The King smiled and nodded but it was Fili of Ered Luin, his companion of long years who took Burin’s hand in gratitude. “Lets hope it never comes to that. Pick three Dwarrows from the guards that you trust and have no ties to the Dwarrowdams. I don’t want there to be any surprises again. Dwalin will be informed upon his return.”

“It shall be as you say. When will the Captain return?” Burin asked as he rose to leave.

“Soon and with more ‘dams.”

The two Dwarrows laughed at the comment but sobered just as quickly. Burin left Fili with his ale and his pipe as he went in search of the Dwarrows that could ensure the Queen’s safety. Fili sat for a while longer until Galar came to advise him that the Throne room was filled once more, awaiting their King. Fili checked on Sigrid to see her sleeping on her side before he shrugged back into the mantle of King under the Mountain.

******************

They made camp in the afternoon, the animals and travelers weary beyond measure from going all day, every day. Winds had been fierce this morning with a bite to them that Dwalin thought smelled of snow. Jari and Bifur scouted to their north but returned with news of possible Orcs, moving at speed towards the south. If they were Orcs, they were giving the Erebor Company a wide berth that was comforting since Dwalin was away from his post. The ones he left in charge were capable but he took his duties seriously to the point where the stress of not knowing was taxing.

Dwalin rode close to Olrun, his pony annoying her pig. Her brother had been giving him dismayed looks but it wasn’t something that would dissuade a member of Thorin’s company long term. Olgr and their father Tarag had approached him years ago in the Iron Hills when Olrun had made them aware she would claim him for courting. Their words had been kind for he was Durin’s Folk of the Ered Luin, they counted him no less for the state of his fortunes. As a warrior son of Durin, his blood was good enough they judged if Dwalin was willing to take Olrun for wife. Olgr had watched Dwalin’s pained refusal, had seen his anger and knew the why of it but he wasn’t warm to Erebor’s captain even now. Some Dwarrows forgive but they never forget.

Early this morning, he had caught Olrun trying to give his mare a treat but the swine under her harness had shoved the pony away. Dwalin couldn’t for the life of him understand her fascination with the pigs. The last thing he would consider in life is an animal that feels entitled to your person in some way. Olrun had laughed, making him smile at the sound, giving it to the rooter beside her instead. Her conversation had been light until the damnable lamented stream had been found at lunch, stating another level of headache that beleaguered the son of Fundin.

Nori and Jari looked disgruntled as they walked to him now as the camp settled, unhappiness on a Dwarven face is startling. “We will be on the road a week more.”

“Aye.” Dwalin agreed, waiting for them to continue with the reasons behind the obvious.

They would be on the road for a week more, anyone with eyes and working mind behind them could see this. Those Mahal cursed pigs were slower than the two humped legged things that the Near Harad favored for long trips. The boy must have either lost his mind to consider this snouted feral beasts in Erebor or Dis was starting to shove her nose into Kingdom politics more Dwalin ever thought.

“Durin’s Day has passed us.” Nori supplied. “I usually make a nice coin during the celebration.”

“I am sure Bombur will not cheat you from your share. You, however would not think twice.”

The good natured rubbing continued with Nori grousing about missing the fun. It was pointed out again and again that he had requested to join the company, so whatever Nori felt about it was immaterial. For truth, Dwalin was happy that he was not apart the festivities. It was a stark reminder of his failure to protect the last of the male line of Durin.

Fili and Kili were no less in his eyes, grandchildren of Thrain no matter their father Vali’s Stiffbeard beginnings. But some looked askance at the sister sons of Thorin Oakenshield after the battle, wanting to back the claim of the Ironfoot who was coveting the hoard as well as the Arkenstone for himself. That some of Dain’s soldiers had helped Thorin in his time of madness could never be overlooked. Dwalin had no proof, Dain had much to gain from Thorin’s instability. He had never believed that all of Thorin crazed actions were because of the Arkenstone and not a scheme that Dain had orchestrated.

Looking around the camp, Dwalin’s eyes lighted on Olrun as she brushed out her beard and hair, wringing the wet from her bathing in the nearby spring. The ladies had begged most prettily to stop early for a bath when the company came upon a goodly stream that ran into the Iron Hills branch of the River Running. After an hour of polite comments and genuine sighs, the Dwarrowdams nagged ferociously until Olrun stopped her pig with a gimlet eye. The other ‘dams had followed suit with nary a look in his direction. Their rebellion had the intended results, they cared not for the inconvenience to the rest. Olgr had been chosen as their guard as he was kin to them all, walking at a distance with two heavy axes.

Her stormy eyes found his as Olrun continued to brush with careful strokes into the mane of long damp hair. The strands that had dried caught the breeze, twisting way from its wet sisters in a warm fiery halo. An ache began in his loins as Dwalin watched her with abject longing. He wanted to do that, to brush her hair, her beard then suckle upon the flesh at her neck while his fingers plaited his braids into her warm red blond locks. Dwalin wanted to bed down with her as the night fell, to hold her close and protect her as a Dwarf should for his One.

The callow youth, Vigdis walked in between them, cutting him off from his viewing pleasure as he shook his wet hair like a mongrel. The Dwarf’s tunic stuck to his back before he pulled on his leather vest instead of a hauberk. That sort of lax thinking would get the boy killed and Dwalin decided it was time for the Dwarf to understand about security of their company. Olrun or Olgr had engaged him to join them from the Iron Hills, so they at least were familiar with him and his habits.

“Vigdis!” Dwalin snarled before the Dwarf could reach Olrun and peeve the tattooed warrior further. If he could not touch her, that Mahal cursed boy would not!

The slight Dwarf turned in a hurry, almost tripping over his feet in surprise. While the youth had as much grace as a bowlegged Orc, his hand placement with the pike was steady. Walking towards the Erebor captain, Vigdis stopped short about two feet away with a closed expression on his face. If he is nerves were raw, they didn’t show as far as Dwalin could see which was a point in his favor.

“Where is your hauberk or gambeson? We are in the wild with the possibility of Orcs upon us and all you wear is a vest and tunic!” His tone grabbed the Dwarrow’s attention but also everyone else in the camp, Olrun’s especially. She rose slowly from her seat with a worried look up her face.

“My gambeson is by my saddle along with my mail, Captain. I just returned from bathing and was going to clean my gear.” The Dwarf looked neither away nor used a confirmation stare, standing straight with a comfortable air of a confident warrior.

Dwalin couldn’t say why the warrior infuriated him, he just knew that the boy did. When he was away down their line, Dwalin would look back to see Vigdis riding beside Olrun chattering like two birds in a tree. The tattooed warrior knew he had no place to order the ‘dam back to her brother’s side but didn’t stop the impulse all the same.

“Why was it not done before you bathed? Now, you will be dirty yet again, and will require another cleaning. Another point, your hair is not tended properly, no braids or clips. It is unseemly for a warrior to be around Dwarrowdams without so much as a family braid!” Dwalin had taken another step towards the unflappable creature who just stared at him, letting him rant. It was infuriating that he said nothing, nor fought back in any fashion.

“Dwalin,” A melodious voice purred behind. “My hair and beard are unbound. Does this mean you will get so angry with me for leaving it so?”

Dwalin kept his back to her, angry that she would intervene for this Dwarf against him. There had been a time when nothing or no one could have taken her attention from him. They had eyes for only each other, never wanting to miss a single moment. If he looked upon her golden coppery ringlets at close range, he feared he would disgrace himself utterly. The idea of those curls fluttering around her lovely face to where he could touch, inflamed his body to burn his reasoning to ashes, leaving only unfiltered emotion. Anger, love, frustration, heartache. It was all together in a foaming soup of indiscriminate flavor that polluted his thoughts and soured his words.

“Your wanton actions are your own affair, Lady Olrun. If you wish to flaunt yourself in such a fashion is it your brother’s right to discuss it, not mine.” Dwalin focused once more on the Dwarrow before him. “But if this warrior was one of mine, I would be unable to ignore his vulgarity.”

There was a snort behind him before Olrun roared at him in anger. “Wanton?! You dare to call me such names! I am not some loose hussy, Dwalin son of Fundin. Though once upon a time, I gave you a right of such opinion of my person but you shunned me!”

“I was sworn to Thorin! There were responsibilities, duties! I could not take you with me for I had no hall to bring you.” Dwalin shouted the words as he turned to her incredulous face, uncaring of the spectacle they presented to the company. An Orc pack could be sitting on the other side of the embankment and he wouldn’t have cared.

“Do you know the loneliest moment in my life? It was the day you left me. With Thorin Oakenshield. My world fell apart that day and all I could do was watch you leave. I cared not for a hall, it was always you!” Olrun cried as tears gathered in her beautiful grey eyes. “But you left…. And never returned, not even sent word to let me know if you were yet living.”

The bitterness of their parting had not faded, yet only ate more of him in the ensuing years. He had missed her so desperately, wishing for time with his One. There had always been something to do or a caravan to protect, then Erebor and the quest to reclaim their homeland had finally come. She could not understand what it had meant to bring Durin’s Folk back to the Lonely Mountain. But if the rumors of her and Dain where true….

“The years have not gone so dully for you, have they? All know you to be Dain’s creature now or should I say consort!” Dwalin sneered as he turned to leave, enraged at the idea but spewing it at her all the same. Blinded by his emotions, he never saw the spear that struck the back of his hard head.

Olrun threw the pike back to Vigdis before rounding on the downed Dwarf. “We keep to the Blood Law in the Iron Halls. Lord Linnar is no different than any other headman. He would never have allowed such a match nor would I have taken Dain as his consort! There is no greater insult than what you have levied against me, Dwalin son of Fundin by calling me a consanguine!”

Dwalin rubbed the back of his hard head with a grunting sigh. He had not thought her capable of violence but it wouldn’t be the first time he was wrong. Sitting with his bottom in the dust, his vision cleared to the scene around him.

The Iron Hills Dwarves were trying and falling to look everywhere but at him without much success. Vigdis, the little mouthbreather of a Dwarf was skipping after Olrun with obvious need to ingratiate himself. The urge to shove a hand down his throat and yank out his speen was overwhelmingly attractive.   Olrun’s brother and wife had disgusted looks on their face as they gathered their things to follow in the harridan’s path.

“I thought with all the lovey, dovey looks. This would courtship be a piece of cake.. I forgot what a stubborn rukhs shirumund you are, Captain Dwalin.” Nori shook his head to join their company. They all looked at him like he had grown another head on his ass.

8*8*8*

Olrun stalked to the edge of the camp, far from Dwalin and his insults that ripped wounds into her soul. Why he could believe such filth was beyond her ability to comprehend. Breathing deep, she fisted her tunic to keep her nails from rending the palms of her hands. The Broadbeam ‘dam knew of others who had quietly ignored their laws when their Ones were too close in kin relationships, claiming a warrior husband only to take their Ones as a lover. It might be the way of some but it was not hers. She saw Dain as loving family though later, it changed to fearful disgust.

It was a terrible injustice that another woman held more power over the King than his wife, particularly as Olrun didn’t want the honor. She was the one who controlled Dain instead of his own Queen, a fact he reiterated time and again. While the Ironfoot sniffed and whined at her heel, she cared not for she never wanted him. Even if she could have had him as a husband, Olrun wanted him not.

It was Dwalin who had consumed her from the beginning, everything about him lit a fire that couldn’t be smothered. Olrun loved him totally, would have waited for him to come back. No matter the cost of time or heartache at the long separation, she would have waited for him. But time was not her friend, and every year saw Dain becoming more and more constricting in his ‘affections’. His opinions on her jewelry, clothes and friends as well as her time with her family grated her patience.

Kibil had her sympathy, trying to be friendly and show the icy blond proper respect when others looked over her as a weak Queen. When the Stiffbeard Dwarrowdam came to the Iron Court, Kibil had been young, happy with a lively personality. Where such vivaciousness would have pleased another King, Dain complained that she was flighty and harebrained. It had taken him ten years to seek her bed as a husband should but by then the damage was done to their marriage. Only Thorin Stonehelm had been born of their union, and after his birth the Thane Dain all but ignored his wife.

Olrun couldn’t say exactly when the nature of her relationship had changed with her cousin but it had not been overnight. After Dwalin left, she had asked to return to Linnar’s hall for the solitude to get passed the pain of his refusal. Her Adad, Tarag, had pleaded with her to stay and keep him company now that her Amad had passed to the Halls Awaiting. Dain had been kind to her, taking her for rides aback the boars to cheer her from the heavy weight of unhappiness. Kibil had come in the beginning then it was only her and Dain. Time flowed like a river, the currents bringing new sights and changes to her life. Dain became more of a fixture, making decisions as a family member who was also her King.

When she _had_ returned to the Broadbeams after her father was laid into stone, Dain sent a messenger after a few weeks for her return to the Iron Court. It was lovely to feel needed by someone, even if her One could not be with her. But the spark was not there, the need was hollow. He wasn’t Dwalin, never could be. So yes, it was insulting to call Olrun Dain’s consort by the very Dwarf who held her heart in his tattooed hands.

Very insulting indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Dwalin...why do you plague me soo...
> 
> From what I have read, Aule made the Dwarves but Iluvatar wasn’t happy that they could wake before his Elves. The phrase ‘the breath that Iluvatar granted them’ is a license I took to say that he allowed the Dwarves to become instead of having Aule smash them to bits with his hammer. The Dwarves were consider the adopted children not one Iluvatar created.  
> Two Humped Legged things of the Near Harad are camels.. They are featured in the LOTR video games but not with a definite name.  
> Ruhks shirumund..beardless orc


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams last so long, even after you're gone  
> I know that you love me  
> And soon you will see, you were meant for me  
> And I was meant for you 
> 
> ~ Jewel - You were meant for me ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gingerpie Rules !

Thrud stood in the doorway, full of apprehension. The young Dwarrowdam at the desk before her, was copying notes into a contract with meticulous care. The runes appeared on the scroll as if by magic, neat and orderly like soldier formations before a battle. The burnt orange of her dress flattered her red hair and fair skin surprisingly well but it also gave a dark backdrop to the Citrine jewel broach at her throat. Thrud stared at the jewel with a sense of regret at the turn of events that caused Lady Eir to lose her level of achievement.

Thrud had known from the beginning that her association with Herja would bring only pain. Her Amad had been friends with Herja’s family in the past and had pushed for their friendship to prosper. That should have been enough to cause Thrud to run screaming in the other direction. The black haired ‘dam had been very quick and organized in the beginning, amassing the ‘dams that she thought were of like minds for the reestablishment of the Dwarrowdam rights and culture. Thrud was not of that mindset, her own nature closer to her father, Tindri’s than her mother’s. A good miner, Tindri, saw each Dwarrow as companion, not a tool to be used for his own ends. But even her father would say, there is always a price to pay for the life you choice.

“You are inbetween, Lady Thrud.” Eir spoke with her head still down, her hands flying across the page. “Neither in the room, nor in the hall.”

“It seems to be the anthem of my life, Lady Eir.” Thrud gave a defeated smile as Eir raised her head in question. “Caught in the middle of what is expected and what my head tells me.”

Eir gave her a sweet smile, a customary thing on her pretty face. “Listen to your heart.”

Thrud looked away with a grimace, unaccustomed to Eir’s gentleness for they had not been close in Herja’s gaggle. “I have no heart or did you miss that rumor?”

The red haired ‘dam rose from her desk to allow the scroll to dry. Walking around the desk, she stepped quite close so that Thrud could smell the ink on her skin but also the light honey smell of her soap. Eir took other Dwarrowdam’s hands in her own for a moment, smiling with an inner light that made blond female both envious and happy. She could never felt that kind of serenity but Thrud was thankful that Eir had found a measure of peace in their world of animalistic struggle.

“You have a heart, dear lady as do most Dwarrowdams. There is no shame in letting it rule your thinking.” Thrud could not help but return the smile that Eir gave her, her happiness tugging at the blond eagerly. “Not everything in life should be a battle.”

“Do not let Herja hear that. She believes we are all foot soldiers and she the commander.” Foul thoughts broke into the sunshine of her happiness. Releasing Eir’s hands, Thrud stepped into the room and closed the door.

The room’s space was small yet very organized. Shelves and cubby holes held long sheets of paper as well as thick vellum. No dust dared occupy the wood nor clutter invade and take root. Eir was exacting in her job when she apprenticed to Gloin son of Groin, Thrud could only imagine the Dwarrowdam would work twice as hard for Balin because he brought her back from being shunned.

“I care not for Herja, Lady Thrud. I am happy and content in my position.” Eir squared her shoulders before taking a seat once more behind the desk. “Herja can make as much trouble as she wishes but I will live my life my way.”

As the new apprentice for the Chancellor, Lady Eir had been quite busy of late. She had come to Lady Golls apartments for tea and feminine sociality but divulged nothing of consequence. Eir had given the impression that Lord Balin had not given her the heavy work or the secrets of the realm as yet but never actually saying the words. Looking at the papers on the desk, Thrud smiled at the Dwarrowdam’s deception and loyalty. Eir had made a choice in which side she preferred, and the daughter of Tindri was thinking it was the right one.  

“But the Queen and the Princess will, that is why I have come. I know that you have the ear of the King’s mother.” While the Princess and Lady Eir had not been seen in each other’s company often, Eir could walk to the Princess Dis and tell her of what Lady Thrud was hearing from the Dwarrowdams.

The Lady Eir watched but the smile was still in place, causing Thrud to wonder if this was a mistake to entrust so much to her. Someone had to know and warn the King’s family. Herja would not say bound in her rooms forever and if she were not going to be moved to the jails, the likelihood of danger increased. The redheaded Dwarrowdam leaned back in her chair to look off to the side, contemplating the situation and her own counsel.

With a sigh, she looked at Thrud for a moment then spoke. “Herja is under arrest in her quarters. She can do little.”

“Herja is confined to her quarters but the ‘dams are still seeing her when the right guards are on duty. Goll is trying to help Herja plan an escape to meet with the King.” Thrud gushed the words in a hurry so that the other ‘dam would understand.

The agitation of the clandestine affairs that Herja and now Goll were planning gave the Lady Thrud a headache of godlike proportions. Goll and her brother, a guard, were working to anticipate the King’s schedule so that Herja’s escape would have the best chance of success. Herja had decided to allow the Lady Goll to attempt a claim upon Dwalin son of Fundin when he returned. The sickening Dwarrowdam would need the total support of the Captain and his men as another step in the ladder towards her goal. Gimli, son of Gloin would be left alone at the moment since Gloin was still holding a grudge over the debacle with Eir.

“To what end? Thane Fili has been enraged by Herja and particularly her activities of days past towards the Queen. What a tangle she has made of things.” Eir leaned her head forward onto ink stained hands. “I have heard in Goll’s presence that Herja wishes for you to go to the Iron Hills and press Thorin Stonehelm for courting.”

Thrud snorted in derision as she walked to a shelf to examine its contents. “Unlikely. I want none of that Dwarf, nor would I wish to be her puppet to help squeeze the Line of Durin into submission.”

The Dwarrowdam looked at the blond now but her gaze wasn’t kindly nor did she offer comfort. “Prince Thorin is a good Dwarrow, with fine qualities. You could do much worse than he.”

The blond watched Eir speculatively, at her posture and her words. Gone was the happy Dwarf lady with a smile for any and a sunny laugh. Rigid steel shanked her posture into place with an almost audible snap. Eir had grown up in the Iron Hills, would have known the Iron Court as a Daughter of Snorri son of Sturl. It was not unreasonable that she was acquainted with the Prince.

“I am sure he is a good Dwarf, Lady Eir.” Thrud offered the conciliatory words as an apology for Eir’s obvious respect for her birthplace. “But he is not for me. You know the Iron Court, Herja should have nominated you for the honor!”

Thrud turned away but missed the shadow of pain that skated across the Dwarrowdam’s face. Huffing a sigh at the direction this conversation had taken, the daughter of Tindri picked up a sharpener idly as Eir retorted. “Thorin Stonehelm is not for me either, Lady. If you have concerns about Herja, then you should see the Athane.”

The blond shook her head in disgrace. “They would not see me if I attempt, long have I been judged amongst Herja’s ilk. Are you happy here? Herja has levied abuse upon you, sorely wronged your gentle spirit.”

Eir gave her a smile as stood from her desk as Thrud walked to the door. “Yes, I am happy. Master Balin is very capable and good to me. You never wronged me, Thrud and I still count you a friend for it.”

The blond nodded but strode hastily from the room and into the hall. She had no destination in mind, simply a need to escape. She had delivered the warning, now to find out how the escape could be further thwarted and why the vicious Dwarrowdam wanted with the King.

*8*8*8*

Eir watched the Lady Thrud go taking with her the light happy feelings she had gained all the morning working on the contracts. Not many could say they felt the need to put to pen to paper and scribble lines of words in different languages but it gave Eir a sense of peace when it was just her and the paper in a quiet room. The books that graced the Library had been marked down by scholars who may or may not have felt the same as she, tracing the intricate letters and runes for the generations to read and marvel. They had been fortunate that the Dragon had no interest in paper or awareness of much past the gold in the deep halls below her.

Drawing a deep breath, the daughter of Snorri grabbed some random pages from the desk since subterfuge would be needed for the endeavor that she planned. If Thrud could not approach the Queen or the Princess, then the task fell to her to complete. If any of the ‘dams knew of her passing their ramblings on to the Sigrid or Dis, they would eject her from their gatherings post haste. Seeing her with papers would give the illusion that the apprentice was on an errand for her master. Herja could be dangerous and now that she was cornered, she would be desperate. Rash acts of desperate people had far reaching effects, some rash acts still affected Erebor even now. Forewarned was forearmed.

Master Balin would be in council today with the heads of the guilds to sort out a schedule for the winter months. The livestock would be driven west to holding areas close to Ravenhill and Dale so that they could be watched over by the Ravens but have good forage and water at the Lake’s edge. The overhangs there would give the animals a weather break from the snow and protection from the high winds. The timing was meticulous so that they would have as much of the sweet mountain grass as possible before the trek became impossible due to the snow drifts.

Eir smiled a fake smile to any who nodded to her, many remembering her now that she was apprenticed again instead of shunned. The indifference of so many towards her had been very painful but holding the hurt feelings to her breast would solve nothing. Her father’s own anger had been a physical thing, railing for hours on Gloin and his wishes to nail the Dwarf’s ink stained fingers to the Great Gates. There had been nothing for it but to allow Adad his tirade as along as he didn’t try to actually hurt the Dwarf, of course. Snorri son of Sturl could be as vicious as any Warg in regards to his daughter and her happiness. I mustn’t dwell on it nor let it fester, Eir reminded herself as she sped along the promenade to the Water Chambers at the end of the open corridor passed the Throne room and Council chambers. The shunning by so many who she had thought to be her friends had cut deeply but none so deep as the news that Herja wanted the Lady Thrud to marry Prince Thorin.

Even now the pain in her gut stopped Eir short of the Guards outside the chamber door, forcing her to breathe and close her eyes until it passed. The tender feelings had bloomed quietly in her soul for the rugged Dwarf prince of the Iron Hills, taking her breath when he was near. The few times she had tried to talk to him, to engage him at any level had ended with her scampering way in embarrassment. When her father decided he wanted to come back to Erebor, she had wholeheartedly agreed. Anything was better than the seeing the Stonehelm on a given day while he stared at her with a perplexed expression.

Burin was the door warden today, greeting her with a happy smile. There were few of the Queen’s retinue that looked upon the Dwarrowdams of Erebor with anything less that cold suspicion or ill concealed hostility. Eir had been saved their frozen attitudes since her release from Glorin as they blamed Herja for the daughter of Snorri’s slide in favor amongst the populace.

“Good day to you, my lady.” His voice was warm and caring, a pleasant Dwarf by all accounts. Were that she could if Thorin did not have a hold upon her heart, Eir would have stuttered into a claim for Burin.

Eir smiled but looked down at his polished boots and the meticulous care he gave them. “Is the princess with Athanu Men?”

They were usually in each other’s company which gave her a lovely opportunity for the information to be passed on to the King. Burin chuckled at her, straightening though she didn’t look at him directly. She flexed her fingers around the papers to give the impression that they were for the Princess. As the chancellor’s apprentice, it would be assumed that they were from Balin. Eir was still unsure of whom to trust and who might say things with no thought to their importance. She liked Burin but was not clear of his exact position in the Queen’s household.

“She is, my lady, along with Healer Wheat so the conversation should be lively.” The deep bass rumble of his voice was soothing but Eir didn’t look at him, only shook her head to say she understood.

He opened the door, never taking offense to her shyness. She smiled again to him as the loud voices of women greeted her inside the well light chamber. Eir had been fortunate to be allowed access to the room before it was actually completed, speculation was rampant under the Mountain on what exactly the Queen was trying to accomplish. A stripling chased the crown prince around the expanse while a second held his wiggling brother, Prince Vian. The children’s laughter transformed Eir’s smile to a grin of unabashed delight. They were the most adorable boys, how could anyone not love them on sight?

“My Queen, I agreed that it was ok for you to come in and supervise. I did not agree to you performing tasks that will tired you unnecessarily!” A large heavy woman escorted the Queen from where she had been, washing the wall, to take the Crown seat on the dais.

“Willa, blessed be, I am fine today! Why don’t you call Oin for a second opinion? He does so love to be in your presence.” The Queen joked with the large woman as the Princess Dis guffawed loudly from the floor on the other side of the ladies. Plopping down with a snicker, Queen Sigrid arranged her high neck green dress about her legs for better comfort.

“Leave poor Master Oin alone, dear Madam!” The woman swung a long braid of gray tinged golden hair over her shoulder with a shake of her head. For a moment, Eir thought she saw a golden shadow along the back of the tall woman’s jaw, rather like a beard.

This must be the Healer from Dale that the King invited to take care of the Queen during her bearing, Eir thought as she walked further into the room. The Queen and the Princess continued to laugh but Eir could see the Queen was pale at this distance with beads of sweat on her brow and hair sticking to her neck. They had not seen her yet, so caught up in their revelry.

The Queen’s happiness echoed through the chamber, her laughter bouncing off the walls in distorted waves. “Why should we leave him be when you yourself are incapable!?”

The comment jolted Eir into laughter along with the ladies, catching their attention in a positive way. Dis joined them from behind the throne, her faded red dress dirt stained from cleaning. Remembering her manners in quick order, Eir dropped low into a curtsy. The healer gave a snort in her direction but walked between the Queen and herself. The red haired Dwarf didn’t take it personally, not after what Herja attempted just days ago.

“My Queen, Princess.” Eir didn’t address the healer as they had not been introduced, yet she felt sure that was who this large lady was.

“Rise, Lady Eir. Please.” The Queen’s voice bounced around the chamber as the striplings herded the crown Prince to his mother. “There is time for ceremony but not when you walk in to see the Queen being reprimanded by the Healer. This is Lady Eir, Willa. She can be trusted.”

A snort and some grumbling came from the general direction of the healer who otherwise sad nothing. That the Queen would vouch for her before others gave Eir a sense of pride that her path was the correct one. A wellspring of good cheer bloomed in her chest where before it was barren and dark. Yes, the Dwarf thought to herself, this is the right path and Sigrid is the right Queen for us.

“Athanu Men, Lady Thrud has just left me with news that Herja is trying to concoct a plan of escape.” She didn’t want to worry the Queen with her delicate condition but this was not something that could be ignored.  

The Princess Dis marched forward as anger crackled the air, the healer was not far behind as she loomed from behind the King’s mother. Eir faltered but a moment, wanting to shrink into herself under the heavy weight of their regard. But she straightened, raising her beard in pride that she could assist them in some way. The healer’s eyes narrowed at her in speculation but Eir held herself still.

“What is being attempted?” The princess asked with concern.

“I know not, my princess. Lady Thrud did not know of the particulars, only that Herja wants to escape and have a meeting with the King.” The red haired dam advised, clenching the papers in worry.

Eir relayed as much as Lady Thrud knew which really wasn’t much in the way of a plan. The conversation began with the ‘hows’ of the Dwarrowdam’s escape and the end result of the ‘whys’. It really made no sense as it was known how angry the King had been lately with Herja’s slander and the blowback from various Dwarrows who believed the Lady Goll’s lies. More intelligence would need to be gleaned before appropriate measures might be considered and how to prevent her ‘dams from claiming a spot in the Line of Durin.

“Why did not Lady Thrud bring this to us herself?” The Queen asked from the Crown chair, her face confused but also lined with worry.

“She fears she will be turned away. Thrud has been in Herja’s ranks so long, she thinks none would ever see her as anything but as a minion.” Eir had that same fear once, but in retrospect, the shunning had freed her from that same taint.

“She has no love for Herja, Sigrid.” The Princess and the Queen shared a concerted look, as if in understanding the Queen nodded to the Princess.

“The enemy of mine enemy isn’t always my friend, madam.” Willa looked at the Princess then back to the Queen. “No disrespect to this Dwarrowdam but we are on cusp of the abyss, bumbling in the dark.”

“Agreed.” The Queen sighed as she took the Prince Vian into her arms. “We will wait and we will watch.”

*************

The day of their departure was a solemn one for Elrond. The pain of the Dwarf prince was lesser now after the time spent in the forges. He had even taken to sharping all of the knives he could find much to the chagrin of the others. The Half Elven had not minded, it was his way of leeching out his agony instead of choosing a mongering path. War could ache and hurt, a beautiful violence was a place a suffering man could hide and reduce his enemies to the earth that spawned them.

That was not what Kili son of Vali needed in the life that he dreamed to have with the elleth. He required no additional incentive to allow the festering rage within to take root and spawn poisoned fruit. The Morgul arrow had changed him, leaving behind the awful scar on the leg but also the lightest stain upon his soul. His anger had been magnified as result of the stain of evil or the separation from his love and their loss. Either situation could result in the Dwarf slipping into the berserker rage that could drown him in the end. The tales of such were few and no child of Mahal survived it.

The Lord of Rivendell understood the separation of a beloved, for Celebrain, daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn had sailed for Valinor many lifetimes ago. He longed to join her in the paradise, to begin their lives anew. Her smiling face would greet him, the love they had still evergreen. But not while the deceiver yet lived, not while there were people that needed saving. He had been unable to save his love in the Red Pass, failed her when she needed him most. Yes, the Half Elven understood loss and pain.

The provisions had been gathered and their animals ready. Dirhael had taken some convincing to let Dorlad travel along with the Princes, not wishing for his last son to be lost on what he told the Half Elven was a fool’s errand. The Dunedain chieftain had not the foresight that some of his line could claim, trusting the telling to his wife, Ivorwyn. He could not see the worst that would befell their world if Kili should fail and it wouldn’t fall the High Elf to do so.

“Take the North- South Road. Dorlad knows the region well as his own village is not too far to the west. He won’t steer you wrongly.” The High Elf shook the Dwarf’s hand in friendship. “I would pass by Isenguard and do not linger. Sarumon has no love for Dwarves.”

Kili looked at him confused. “I thought you said Gandalf was there.”

“Word has reached me that the Gray Pilgrim has been seen on his way to the Shire. Without his calming influence, Sarumon will not be of much aid to you.” Lord Elrond told him grimly. “Namarie. Kili son of Vali. You and your Elleth will always have a home here.”

Lord Elrond prayed silently to the Valar on behalf of small company as they traveled out of the valley proper, that Iluvatar would smile up them kindly. The large Gondolian sword hung from Kili’s waist, reminding the Elf of another Dwarf who wore it. While bound by blood, Kili was nothing like his Uncle. The two Dwarves were different as a horse and a cow so too were the things they had wished from life.

Peredhel climbed the steep staircase cut into the rock to the high balcony overlooking Rivendell and its watery vistas. He was surprised to see he was not alone on the height as he walked to the edge beside the alter. Glorfindel held a position on the other side of the level paramount watching the last images of the Kili, Bain and Dorlad fade from his long sight. Elrond shook his head in amazement that the Elf he had known for so long worried over a single Dwarf when so many lives stood at the edge of oblivion. Clearing his mind and finding his center, he let his thoughts reach for the place where his foresight was the strongest. Tumbling images greeted him at quick shock of surprise escaped his clinched teeth. Over and over, different scenes fumbled and stumble breaking apart in a rush of death and blood until the one he searched for found him.

“The future has taken root in the present.” Lord Elrond stared at his waterfalls as the water shot from the rocks and meandered out of the valley. His companion joined him at the falls edge, a pale statue in the resolute dark.

Elrond could see possible futures, like the swirling dreams of a delirious Man. Some came to pass, others were pushed out of reach by actions and choices beyond his control. Nothing was certain, what seemed fixed in his mind was later changed by a simple act of a fox crossing the road. Now, a young Dwarf prince and a prince of Men left together towards their own destiny. The variables of said destiny had not coalesced in all things but enough was sure.

“It has begun?” Glorfindel asked as he crossed his arms to stare at the Peredhel.

Lord Elrond nodded as he breathed deep shaking when the last of the vision receded and what was still to come. As the caretaker of the last Homily House, much fell upon him but some responsibilities he took on out of the love he bore others. It was not a duty in his mind to love for there was precious little of that emotion in their world at present. That a two occupants of Arda’s vast reaches would long for each other but be separated for six years was a vicious twist of cruel fate. Their future had defied the odds, so maybe the Valar watched the pair out of the corner of their eyes.

“A fish may love an eagle, my lord. But where will they dwell?” Glorfindel was quiet in his disagreement but not out of prejudice. Even one such as he understood the need for loving and being loved in return despite his enmity for the Dwarves as a whole.

“A kinder place than what we know, old friend.” The half Elven turned away from the falls at last with a sigh. “But the coming of the Dwarf and the young Man, certain outcomes are eliminated.”

The two Elves walked in silence to the lower edges of the city, almost to the gate. The brisk air was damp so close to the falls that in full winter it condense into ice and slide on the pavers. The trees swayed in the chill evening breeze bringing the last scents of green and earth to the inhabitants.

Glorfindel was not convinced. “I would think the union of a Dwarf and Elf would start more wars than prevent.”

Elrond sighed. “Make no mistake, old friend. War is coming and will have it’s bloody time once more. But Rivendell will survive now. Not be burned to the ground and its ashes be packed into the earth by enemy feet. None shall occupy Imladris but the Elves until we choose to leave it. All because a Dwarf loved an Elf and she returned his love with her whole heart.”

The High Elf with the former Lord at his back made the long trek from the height down the slick wet steps to the plaza below. Again Elrond thought of his own losses, of dead friends and the cold bones of his kin both Elf and Man that littered Middle Earth. They fought and died for these futures, of what could be. Pure ideals and clarion faith were noble, but love was the blazen to which they followed. The love of self, of companions and family drove them into the peril each and every time. The Lord of Rivendell wondered why it was the things a person had lost or might lose defined him more than the things he yet possessed.

Three riders approached the gate from the Hidden Valley, travelled stained on weary horses. Attendants ran forward to take the beasts since the new arrivals had been expected. Lord Elrond’s son, Elrohir, walked across first to bow his head to his father. Those behind him took a knee. Removing their muddy cloaks with a gust of relief, the youngest of their small company gave a cheeky smile for the child had not long left him.

“Estel, have you been paying attention to Elrohir?” Lord Elrond asked of his ward after greeting his son. The young Man shrugged gangly shoulders a little with the impish grin still in place.

The boy was growing into a fine Man, strong with conviction and the power of his bloodline. At fifteen, Estel had all the promise and none of the vice as the current Heir of Isildur. The time to explain about his heritage was coming but not yet. The Elf to Estel’s right removed his cloak as well, revealing forest green clothes and brown leathers. The white blond hair was a shock in the dim light of the evening. He bowed to the Half Elven as well as to Glorfindel behind him. A prince of his people, he chose exile until he could face his trees once more without sorrow.

“I took an Orc blade to my cloak due to his inattention.” Legolas groused at the young Estel who laughed at his Elf friend.

“I am sure we can see to its repair if not ensure you a replacement.” Elrond was in sincere earnest as Legolas’ face smoothed into its calm appearance, walking with his mare and the other companion to the stables.

Leading the way, to the guest quarters, Elrond smiled at the young Man who chattered on about the things they had seen and experienced. Legolas had not been so morose this time, Estel advised, saying that they had met some Dwarves that sparked the son of Thranduil’s ire for a day or so after. The Peredhel was secretly glad that Kili was away before Legolas returned, no doubt a bloody fight would have ensued thanks to a grudge that had not been laid to rest.

Estel sped off to his mother once he learned that his grandfather was there. He did not ask about Dorlad, no doubt assuming that he was with his father and sister awaiting him. It hurt to see the lad so happy, knowing that fate would not be so kind in the coming years. He would travel a harsh road but it would cement the foundation for the return of the King of Gondor.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally he is on the road... YaY! You have Nori and Olrun plus Tauriel and Lifa in the next chapter which I hope to get out by the weekend.. 
> 
> I hope everyone had a great Memorial Day!


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'll be seeing you  
> In every lovely summer's day  
> In everything that's light and gay  
> I'll always think of you that way
> 
>  
> 
> I'll find you in the morning sun  
> And when the night is new  
> I'll be looking at the moon  
> But I'll be seeing you
> 
> ~ Billie Holiday - I'll Be Seeing You ~

Tauriel stood on the battlements, staring at the northwest. The sun hid its face behind the sharp crags, its light glinting off the frost frozen stone. Its like my heart, Tauriel thought as she watched from the surround, my heart is colder, harder than these rocks. The dull drumbeat in her ears had not ceased, keeping her from finding her rest each night or an appetite during the day. The pain that Kili might have taken another, given himself to a bride robbed her of thought and reason.

The wild thoughts of riding to Thranduil, to Erebor to demand the truth flashed through her brain, her oath to Thorin bedamned. Flandif would carry her, right to the limits of her large heart but for naught if none would see her. Unsure of her reception by the Dwarves or the Wood Elves would get her killed faster than fading. They were a weeks of good travel from Dale, at least a week from Caras Galadhon and those who might be counted as her Silvan kin. But she would not trouble them, she would not go. She had known that she was leaving behind that world and her heritage when she took the boat to Erebor.

It was love that put her in the boat in the first place, but it was faith in that love that had her following Kili into the mountain. Sometimes one needed to proceed on faith as she had that long ago morning. It was in those moments that she had known that faith was all she had. Trials and tribulations come and go but they serve to make the faith stronger than it had been. Lord Elrond had been kind to her, she had to believe, have the faith that his vision would come to pass. But how could she now? How could she have faith if her love had turned to another?

If it were true, then Sigrid would be his wife, not a bride. Tilda would be much too young and Bard had loved them all too dearly for a girl child to marry before she ripened. Men age quickly and die just as soon, they would not have to wait for Tilda if Sigrid was of age and alliance needed security. There could be children of his loins, chasing each other through the dark halls of Erebor. The pain at the thought of Kili’s progeny with another even Sigrid was piercing as a thin blade to the ribs and just as quick, pushing her to dig her fingers into the stonework. A child, his child, but not hers.

Between lovers, betrayal was always the worst sin. A dishonorable thing that can never be forgiven nor forgotten. It scorches the mind and obliterates the soul, leaving not but a hollow shell which fills with hate and the need for revenge. Elves were no different than Men in that regards and Silvans harsher in their moods than the other children of Iluvatar. There had been an instance in Tauriel’s younger years where an Ellon lived apart from his wife for an age, travelling the Greenwood and Gondor. Later, his wife found that he had taken a Gondorian mistress during his travels who bore his children. The wife, a fair lady of skill with a bow tracked down his adult offspring, killing them before taking her husband’s life. Then she cast her _fea_ to the starlight for grief and anger at his adultery. No, there is nothing worse than a love scorned for the Elves.

An aching vacuum deep within sucked the air from her lungs to freeze her core into negative degrees. She hung her head from the glinting light, the emptiness inside her growing larger not smaller; she felt as though it would grow so large it would suffocate her just as surely as the sea would have smothered the shore. She already felt dead in everything but name. What remained to be taken from her? Kili, her love had turned his face from her, their son was lost to this world. She longed to be enfolded, welcomed, into the earth - to breathe no more, love no more, hurt no more.

“Lady Tauriel?”

Her hands were on a dagger at her waist, surprised instinct more than a protective response here on the wall. Turning to see Lord AeldKlif’s youngest, Lifa standing beside her with an uncertain smile, Tauriel let loose her grip to bow her head to the daughter of the house.

“My lady.” The Elf’s tone was solemn, but the keep’s residents were used to her taciturn manner. Tauriel was prepared to go back inside, leaving the curtain to the Lord’s daughter but a hand shot out to stop her.

The Lady Lifa was a pretty thing, with warm brown eyes and golden hair. She was the sunny child to her dark older sister. The Numenorean blood was present in her cheek bones, bladed high and sharp but the coloring was that of her father’s kin. The honey blond locks caught the whispering wind to blow with Tauriel’s burning hair.

“Forgive me, my Lady, but I wonder if I might speak with you?” She was hesitant like a doe caught before a large wolf. Tauriel had never thought of herself in such terms but it seemed that is how others saw her.

“Your pardon, my lady, but I am ill company this morn.” The Elf wanted her tranquility, most of all she wanted an end to the pain that ate at her since the Lady Alfgiva spoke of old news.

Tauriel knew what the young girl saw when she looked upon her visage. A Elf of medium height with unfortunate red hair, and mud green eyes. The leather bodice fitted her frame, a spare that Lord Elrond had gifted to her along with the sword at her side and the vambraces on her arms. Bilbo had retrieved her weapons from the room she had shared with Kili, all but a knife that had been a gift from King Thranduil when she became Captain. Her scrub brown clothes were her own though she wore the cloak and sigil of the Lord of the Keep. The Lady Lifa could not know of the pain Tauriel hid beneath her armor and weapons.

“What could make the great Elf archer be out of sorts? Any enemies must be quaking in their boots at the thought of your anger.” Her youth might be fleeting but Tauriel prayed that her sweet nature did not.

Seeing the girl’s attempt at frivolity as a boon, Tauriel drew a deep breath as she decided what to divulge. “Your lady mother mentioned the wedding of the King of Erebor’s brother to a Princess. Dwarves tend to be quite.. boisterous when enough spirits are involved.”

“I would not know about that for I have never met a one of that race but I thought it was the Dwarf King who married the Princess of Dale, not his brother. There is talk that his brother is quite mad, a vicious killer called the King’s Justice.” Seeing the Elf draw away, the Lady Lifa spoke quickly. “But that is just idle talk of the travelers who pass by on their way to the White City. My mother would have the right of it, for I know not. But why would that bother you so? Are you acquainted with Dwarves, Lady Elf?”

King’s Justice? Mad? Tauriel’s thoughts spun faster than she could grasp, leaving her feeling disoriented and lost. The time in Rivendell had not been without information. News had reached them that Kili had healed of his wounds when his mother had arrived to assist with his care, likewise Fili or King Fili had been in attendance to him before Lady Dis set foot on the slopes of Erebor. Bilbo himself, relayed Thorin’s passing to her with quiet tears and much grief on the road to Rivendell. Tauriel had heard no tales of Kili losing his mind nor of a marriage. If he was unbalanced, she could not see his family pushing forward a marriage. Dwarves would never allow it nor would Bard if he thought his daughter might be in danger. The Dragonslayer would cleave Kili’s head from his shoulders before he let Kili kiss Sigrid’s hand if he were crazed.

“It was another life, my lady, far from here. Somethings we should forget but others we keep close and cherish.” She spoke the words and desperately clung the possibility of it being a mistake, that he would not have taken another after he had vowed himself to her. Forcing a smile though she thought her face would split, Tauriel focused on the young girl before her. “You wanted to speak with me?”

The hesitancy was back in her form as she looked at her folded hands. Her mourning weeds didn’t favor her coloring, paling her normally rosy cheeks into a yellow wash. Her brown eyes, large and luminous with a sparking wit seemed dull and lackluster. The news she bore drowned her that much further.

“I come on behalf of one who would approach my father for the right to pay court to you.” The misery of the poor daughter of the house only increased. “Werrmund son of Eomund is worthy as a Rider to my father.”

“I know well the attributes of Werrmund, Lady Lifa, and while they are many, he is not for me.” The internal confliction of her feeling gave her words a razor’s edge that wounded Lifa when Tauriel would have spared her. She had made her intentions known to him that she wouldn’t entertain a suitor, now he enlisted Lifa as his matchmaker. “I had thought you bore a tendre for him, my lady.”

“I love him, Lady Elf.” Looking at her directly with a sweet smile, Lifa’s eyes misted with tears.

The gusting sigh of longing was harsh at the end, making Tauriel feel pity and confusion for the girl. Lifa did not yet know the ability of the world to be casually cruel and profoundly dismissive. That Werrmund looked on her not at all was sad thing to behold. The lady was fair, more so for the irregular features gained from the Lady Alfgivia’s Gondorian ancestors that set her apart from her local contemporaries.

“Why then do you stand before me to press a suit for a man whom you love? There is no reason for this.” Her confusion at the young blond’s actions would weigh upon her heavily until she knew the answer.

“Nothing is fixed. No course is so set it cannot be changed.” The Lady Lifa turned view the landscape. “He may yet see my love and judge me fair to take for wife.”

Tauriel shook her head, the braids swinging with it, reminding her of her own love and their difficulties. The Elf wanted to reach out to the daughter of Man, to tell her all would be well for her, but she kept her own counsel. She could not see what her own life would bring to her, if she would survive long enough to know the truth of Kili’s life since she left Erebor six years ago. So many stories of the Dwarves but which ones were correct?

“Think not that I would accept Werrmund’s suit, the better for him to see your quality and virtue. If he looks upon me and finds me fair, it will be his gravest mistake. The worst things in the Greenwood will draw you in with a pleasing air.” The Elf left the wall, angry and bitter but still amongst the living.

*****************

 

Nori had been called many names over his long years by so many different races of Arda. Some were nice pleasant monikers while others were not to be repeated before his brothers. Nori the fox, the sly catamite (his younger years), the sharp Cockerel of two spurs. He had been a true child of the road, a wanderer whose longest memories were of the refuge march from Erebor’s Desolation. As a stripling in Ered Luin and some Mannish villages, he had access to things he shouldn’t and as a member of the natural line of Durins, he was thought to be base already. Everything he learned and the actions taken early in life went to help feed his brothers and mother. He cared not how low he sank in the world’s expectations as long as his family ate well and bedded down before a warm hearth.

The dodgy things he had done, the secrets he had sold, none of it was as hard as trying to get the two pig stubborn Dwarves to talk to each other or at least say the right things! As the spymaster of Erebor, Nori could and did slip into some situations that were not for the faint of heart, but this? The rocks underfoot were softer than Dwalin’s head. Dori would have been so much better at this than he! Dori would know how to get them to open up to each other. All Nori knew how to do was blackmail them and rob them blind.

When Balin had asked him to come once Dori fell ill, Nori had gleefully agreed to what he thought was an easy assignment. Of course that was before he fully understood what this trip entailed. The old chancellor had been ill at ease in discussing such matters of his brother and his love life to which Nori could understand. Dwalin had always been a staunch supporter of Thorin’s, his sword and shield in battle but quiet and keeping his own counsel. None had stood higher in Thorin’s esteem as the son of Fundin, or was so capable a warrior.

Nori had been Thorin’s left hand companion until the moody King had figured out he preferred the Burglar. It was of no consequence to the ambiguous son of Ri, one lover was good as another. Since tattooed Dwarf had no issue with the sexual proclivities of the company, Nori had approached Dwalin for the same accommodation he had enjoyed with Thorin only to be politely refused. The star haired trickster had assumed that it was because Dwalin preferred his younger brother, Ori for a bedmate instead of himself. But to learn that that the robust captain had walked away from his One to follow Thorin, well.. that was a mistake of different sort.

Unnarr and Jari had tried on the first day to poke at Dwalin in good fun for the lump on his head but they only succeeded in making it worse. The captain would snarl and gruff at them until the Dwarrows slunk away with tails firmly tucked between their legs. The Dwarrowdams grouped about the Lady Olrun like a bulwark of protection from Dwalin’s harshness.   Since no one else dared tease the Lady or the Captain, an uncomfortable silence had descended on their grouping.

Farli rode on the outside of their grouping close to the Lady Skuld, keeping a watchful eye at the head of their column. He had been in bad spirits since the argument, watching Olrun with a disgruntled air. Farli had not said anything to Dwalin but it was only a matter of time. Nori had almost wanted to tell the Dwarf that the jig was up and that everyone but Dwalin knew that he was Stonehelm of the Iron Court. But on the other side of things, Nori thought it would be better to let that dog lie for a while longer. Nothing good came from revealing a secret too soon. There might be something to be had from ‘Farli’ and why he was pretending.

The day was passing and there were not many left before they arrived back at the Lonely Mountain. If they reached Erebor and still locked in battle mode, Dis and Balin would have his head on a platter. Dori would too but would stitch a neck ruff to accentuate his coloring first. Staring around their party, Nori knew he needed help. He had no acquaintance with the Lady Olrun before this trip and no way of brazenly approaching her without raising the alarm from the Stonehelm and Dwalin.

“You seem to be thinking of something very hard, Master Nori.” A voice wavered from beside him. Looking down he caught a slight twinkle in Vigdis, the spear maiden’s eye.

“I am plotting, dear lady.” He whispered, leaning in her direction. A raised eyebrow answered him, particularly at the ‘dear lady’. “We may not have spear maidens at Erebor, but Dwarrowdams are not hard to mistake.”

Vigdis snorted at him, staring ahead to the front of them. She adjusted her grip on her spear to lock it into the stirrup. “Tell that to Master Dwalin.”

Nori waived off her words with a smile. “He sees nothing but the Lady Olrun. He missed your attributes as well as Thorin Stonehelm’s.”

Vigdis’ head snapped in Nori’s direction, almost upsetting her helm. The mail shirt clinked in response to her sudden movement, making Nori smile. “How long have you known?”

Nori watched her face, could see her fear. What was there to fear if the Stonehelm’s secret was open amongst them? It was obvious that the Iron Court Dwarves were aware of his true identity, while Bifur had told Jari who couldn’t keep a something to himself if his life depended upon it. It was just chance that Dwalin had not heard it from the vocal Erebor Dwarrow.

“Why do you fear, Lady?” Overcome with curiosity, he couldn’t not outright ask too nosy a question. The sooner he knew what he was dealing with, the easier it would be.

They travelled for a space of time, Nori slowing his pony to keep pace with Lady Vigdis’ boar when she showed no signs of replying. The Dwarrowdam was young, he judged, no more than seventy if he guessed correctly. Her braids were tucked into her helm obscuring the color he knew to be a dark auburn. Most of the Broadbeams carried a bit of the red in their hair, a layover of the blending once in their history with the Firebeards. Vigdis’ own vermillion was not so pronounced as the Lady Olrun or the Lady Skuld, only a few strands in her braided beard were the deep wine color.

“I fear for Olrun. She loves Dwalin and has for so long. But now that Prince Thorin knows..” She let the conversation drop when Unnarr rode up to Nori’s other side.

Time crawled by as Nori chewed on the problem. He would get nowhere until the two estranged lovers started talking though even if they did now, it would be in full view of the Prince who tagged along under another name. The trick would be to neutralize Thorin and smack Dwalin across the head at the same time.

“Unnarr, would you ride ahead and ask Dwalin if we can make camp for the night? My bowels are loose from that hedgehog we had this morning.” Unnarr turned up his nose but did as Nori bid him, riding off to Dwalin’s left. “So my lady, if I am correct. Prince Thorin now knows that the Lady Olrun has loved Dwalin for many years, but didn’t at the beginning of the trip. Master Blockhead loves her but thinks that she is tied to Dain in some way. Is she tied to Dain?”

“No! That is why we are all coming to the Erebor, so she can be free of him and be with Master Dwalin! Only my brother, Vigg remains because he is courting a lass.” Vigdis spoke quietly. “Dain sent Thorin to make sure Aunt Olrun returns to the Iron Court.”

“Which he can’t do if she makes a claim on Dwalin and he accepts. The King under the Mountain will give her sanctuary so her family and Dwalin’s will be there to witness the courting.” Nori smiled at her nod of understanding. “Balin and the Princess sent me to make sure the Lady and Dwalin get to that point. They are very eager for him to marry Lady Olrun.”

Vigdis was confused by this but was unable to ask as to why when Dwalin called for a halt. He bore a profoundly angry expression but Nori ignored him completely. Having words with Dwalin in such a manner would be self-defeating now that the sneaky Dwarf understood some of the undercurrents in this sea of angst between the two principals as well as the narwhals in the deeps that threatened their happiness.

“My Lady, I will need your assistance to test the waters. It will mean Dwalin figuring out that you are a ‘dam?” The Lady looked somewhat confused still but agreed. Nori couldn’t wait as he mentally finalized his plan. “I need your father and Balfur out of the camp, can you manage that?”

“Yes, they can take the herd to water.”

Dwalin walked up to them at that moment preventing anything from passing further. “Hedgehog bedamned. If you don’t keep your pants on, Nori and stop chasing Jari every time we stop, your bowels will be loose for another reason!” Looking at the Dwarrowdam beside Nori with disgust. “He’s a little young for you to be perverting, isn’t he?”

Nori almost cackled with glee at the opening Dwalin gave him as Vigdis gasped with shock. The rest of the plan he concocted flew away with the ravens thanks to Captain’s spectacular temper. “I prefer the company of Dwarrows, my stalwart leader. No insult to the Lady.” Nori bowed to Vigdis as her grip tightened on her spear. “It _was_ the hedgehog that has not sat well, Jari has given me no comfort in the last two days.”

Dwalin looked at the fuming Vigdis with his mouth agape like a fish. “Dwarrowdam?”

Nori chortled quietly. “You didn’t know? Go ask your lady there. The Lady Vigdis’ is brother’s daughter to her.”

Dwalin shared no replay, angrily storming to where the Lady Olrun was coxing her boar to water when their argument exploded in fine form before the rest of the company. Words of ‘more Dwarrowdams’ were tossed together with liberal amounts of ‘deceiver’ as rage whipped them into a shouting frenzy. Even Olrun’s pig became agitated, head butting into Dwalin to force him back from his mistress’ side.

“Oh Master Nori. What have you done?” The Lady Vigdis whispered as her aunt drew her small crook to shake it at him from behind her boar, still shouting at high volume.

“Well, they’re talking. Its better than that damnable silence.” Nori lead his pony away for water as the yelling had devolved into insults of character. Now for a plan to encourage them to make up, he thought as he loosed the saddle girth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things  
> I am using the term ‘Left hand companion’ as a latent term for male sexual partner since boyfriend is a modern. To me, Dwarves wouldn’t make a production of it, it would just be what it is. The term natural for the illegitimate is not a new but I am not a fan of using bastard. To me the Ri brothers may not be considered of highest blood like Dain but neither are they lowborn.  
> I saw a picture of a shepherd’s crook that is used to herd sheep. It seemed like a small one would work well for herding large boars.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel it in my fingers, I feel it in my toes  
> Love is all around me and so the feeling grows  
> It is written on the wind, it's everywhere I go  
> So if you really love me, come on and let it show
> 
> I know its a remake but I love WET WET WET's version of Love is All Around!

 

Oin snuck from the Healing hall, hurrying away from the main doors to his chamber. He had planned to accompany Willa to the Village as an escort for her three days with the residents but Burin had been sticking to him quite close of late. Suddenly, the orphan he had helped raise was sounding like a parent, daring to follow Oin on his days off to make sure there was no scandalous behavior between himself and the healer. While Oin might be the first to admit that their actions were on the shady side of indecent, scandalous was not the word he would use.

Heavenly is a word he would use, ambrosial, arousing were others. Oin wanted to follow her, not chase but watch at a distance as he had in the markets. When she looked at him, smiled or touched his hand, a tangle of emotions tormented him that were decidedly unchaste. In her wake, lust followed as if it snarled him completely with licentious thoughts. He wanted her, ached for her and it went against everything he had been trained to comprehend about interactions with a female.

They had kissed for the first time two days past, a quick brushing in an alcove near the dining halls. He had no recollection how they had managed to find themselves in the stone niche but Oin did remember the feel of her soft lips upon his, the taste of mint on her tongue. His member had been so hard and he had been so stunned, the rest of way to his chambers was a blur. Oin also recalled having to take himself in hand once he gained his room. That he remembered very well.

Quickly plaiting his bachelor braid at the crown and checking its fellows to assure himself of the proper appearance, Oin grabbed his bag and staff once he hustled into his heavier coat. The temperatures had fallen drastically in the last week as if Durin’s day marked the end of any warmth near the mountain. Willa had wanted to get an early start since the cloud cover was looking ominous yesterday. Opening the door quickly, the old Dwarf jumped back in surprise as he stared a frowning Burin on the side.

“Caught you, Uz Oini!” The Dwarf snickered at his annoyed master.

Oin scowled at the Burin as the young Dwarrow blocked his passage from the chambers. The Dwarf must have a hound’s instinct for he always seemed to be able to track the Dwarrow healer down with no real problem. In retrospect, Oin was a creature of habit so there were only a few places he would be. Staring at the new tormentor of his life, the son of Groin tried and failed to look menacing. Burin who was dressed in his battle leathers merely laughed.

“I thought you were working today?” Oin ground at the younger Dwarrow, eyeing purposely his attire.

“I was but I switched with Uri to take my shift.” The smile on Burin’s face stretched impossibly wider beneath his beard. “I would hate for you to get lost on the way to Dale. We can’t lose both of our healers at once.”

Oin grumbled to himself as he yanked the door closed and set out for the Queen’s chamber. Burin snickered again as it seemed that the old healer’s grumbling wasn’t as quiet as he thought. Lengthening his stride, he tried to put some distance between himself and the younger Dwarf only to collide with one of the River Hobbits who was walking onto the promenade from the Barracks.

Oin grabbed the smaller male lightly to prevent his fall, murmuring his apologies. The male gave a smile and a bob of the head before setting on his way again. The Stoor was young with a pale look, one of the delegation that was still in the Mountain. The Stoor Hobbits had none of the habits that Oin remembered of Bilbo, only their excessive need to eat. None of dignitaries were ever very far from the kitchens, stuffing their faces at odd hours.

The Thane and his council were working on concessions to the Riverfolk but so far nothing was official. The reports of the Spiders massing once more in the Greenwood might be a reason for their sudden need for a militaristic attitude. Galar, Balin’s assistant, had even sent to King Thranduil for any information he might have about the Hobbits, discreetly of course, but nothing had come back as yet. Oin couldn’t conceive what Galar might be thinking of doing such a thing. The Wood Elves were hardly friendly, despite the treaty in place.

Rounding the curve past the Throne Room, Oin stepped faster in anticipation of reaching the Water Chamber. Willa was inside, she was there in that room. Willa … His thoughts condensed into a single driving need to reach that door and the woman within. He barely acknowledged Uri who was on guard and completely ignored the sarcastic giggling behind him from Burin. Maybe Dwalin could be bribed into sending Burin along with the Riverfolk when they leave. Added protection and so forth, Oin thought until he remembered that Burin was attached to the Queen’s personal guard. With an annoyed grunt, the old Dwarf opened the door.

The Athane was seated upon her chair, with a beautiful russet down spread about her legs. Her voice was loud and lively, always so joyful and full of life. The pale skin was replaced by a heavy cream, glowing as a new mother should be. It was a good sign that the bearing was beginning to ease as her belly swelled already from the evidence of her gown. Oin couldn’t remember the Athane being so evident with her last two pregnancies.

“Master Oin!” The Queen’s beautiful smile laminated the room as the Dwarrows entered the chamber proper. “We were just discussing the possibility of some of the mixed race children coming to the mountain. They are our progeny after all, and we should look after them too. What say you?”

Oin had not been to this chamber since he was a Stripling during the reign of Thror. His mother had been a lady to Queen Skögul, a minor one due to her lower standing before marriage. That had changed, of course when Sváva married Gróin son of Farin. She was invited to a divan along the wall of her own, seated away from the dais as a wife to the Royal House of Durin but not a member. Sváva had cared not at all, preferring her herbs and learning from the healers than court intrigue. Oin remembered her laughter at the designs and greediness of Skögul as well as her plots. Unfortunately, his mother didn’t survive the Dragon’s siege, nor could she see the spectacular daughter of Man that now graced the Water Chamber.

Willa straightened her back but didn’t turn away from their Lady before her. “I agree with you, Madam. It was a very good idea for the unwanted ones. Any further children born to women in Dale might find a place here at the mountain.”

Oin looked first at the Queen, bowing to the Athane, then to the healer as he tried to follow the conversation. At last, he agreed. “Yes, Madam. The stripling system we employ here at the mountain is designed to take the young ones after a certain age for training. I suppose that it could be changed to accommodate babies.”

This wasn’t a new conversation. The Queen had been vocal to the King in private who had been stressing the need for better child care for the mixed race. Many of the council were shocked that such a thing was happening but not very keen on the prospect. Oin didn’t have the heart to tell his lady that most of the detractors were of the agreement to send the children into the military arm of Erebor to be placed at Ravenhill outpost or shallow depth mining but not to be a fully functioning part of the Kingdom. All because of their mixed blood. Old attitudes and older prejudices are hard to lose in a Dwarf.

“Ahhh Burin! I was wondering where you were today.” The Queen smiled from her chair as the Healer Wheat moved to one side of her. The large woman watched the Queen but only the barest flicker of her eye told him that she was aware of him in the room.

Burin the Troll sniffer walked up to the dais, bowing before the Queen who grabbed Prince Fian as he tried to run past her chair. Burin straightened himself tall with a jovial grin for their mistress but daring to smirk once more at Oin. The old healer gripped his staff and horn tightly to stop himself from beating the Dwarf he had raised until blood was spilled.

“I have traded shifts with Uri, Athanu Men, so that I might escort Oin and Healer Wheat to Dale.” The self satisfied expression on his previous ward’s face make Oin snort angrily. Willa raised an eyebrow at Burin as her lips curled ever so slightly.

“I see! Well, I do require you today. We need to see Hannar about some of the scroll work on the standing braziers and Uri seems to become ill in the forges. So we will leave in about thirty minutes.” Sigrid smiled and handed a toy to young Fian in her arms while Oin tried desperately to keep the glee from showing. Gloating is never a prized reaction especially among Dwarrows.

“But my Queen..” Burin stammered. “The Healer and Uz Oini will be alone for the trip and.. and..”

The happy look on the Queen’s family shifted until a bit of steel showing through at the edges. Oin had always known that Sigrid of Dale wasn’t a soft touch, nor was her father. Seeing the humble manner she had grown up in Lake Town with its many hardships, one didn’t stay soft long or if they did, they were eventually eaten by the corrupt. Sweet tender sensibilities do not survive a harsh environment, yet Sigrid was a fascinating balance of happy and exacting.

“My Captain, what do you imagine could happen to a widow of respect and our august healer? Hmmm? I dare say I am shocked that you would have so little faith!” The Queen took a step down from the dais, walking towards them with a calm air as Burin continued to stammer. “Well, since you are so afeared of a calamity. Uri!”

The dark haired Dwarf walked inside the Water Chamber, head high at attention. Sigrid walked passed Oin and Burin with a sweep of her skirts. “Uri, I would ask that you accompany Healers Wheat and Oin son of Groin to Dale. Proprieties must be maintained and none shall suggest that the Queen under the Mountain cares not for the customs of so fine a race as Durin’s Folk!”

Uri looked stunned but bowed his head quickly to the Queen in respect. Burin’s face was a mask of confusion as it whipped from the Queen to Uri then to Oin himself who quickly arranged his features in a composed mask of indifference. The former member of Thorin’s company could sense something afoot thanks to the twitch of Willa’s lips but refused to say these thoughts aloud as it might result in events that were not be to his liking. The Queen set Fian on his feet so that the young child could run over to Willa who swept him up in a hug of farewell.  

“I have asked the stable master to saddle my horse as well as Master Oin’s. I shouldn’t take long for Uri’s to be readied so I will take me leave.” Willa bowed her head but smiled at the Queen in a manner that tickled Oin but still he said nothing. The feeling of conspiracy was in the air and he would allow it to remain so.

The Queen’s smile was the same to her healer, a rather sly cast to her full lips. “Until you return, dear lady.”

Uri left to saddle his mount but Burin stopped him to advise that the Dwarf should take his pony that was already available. Oin prevented himself from sticking his tongue at Burin childishly but only just. The dismayed expression on the guard’s face was hilarious in the extreme. He knew he had been out maneuvered by the Queen, he just didn’t know to what extent. But then, neither did Oin.

The trio set out from the causeway in short order, Oin riding beside a silent Willa with Uri bringing up the rear. The day was brisk with clouds coming on the chilly wind that beat at them in sporadic gusts. Willa’s blond hair was unbound, curling around her face in the whipping tendrils. Lustful, such hair spiraling about her face, made him lustful at the sight. He longed to run his fingers through the locks, allowing them to coil in his hands. Would she sigh if he did so? Could she enjoy his hands in her hair, her neck as he longed to do at this moment?

A cough behind him broke the trance Oin found himself as Willa looked over her shoulder at the Dwarf behind them. When she gazed upon him with that same smile, an oh so sly smile, Oin feared she might be a witch who could read his lewd thoughts and wanton needs.  

“Uri, how have you been?” Oin started the conversation with a confused thought as Willa continued to smile.

“Good, Uz Oini. The Queen is a marvel that I had not known we possessed.” The earnest look on the Dwarf’s face made Oin nod at him.

The regular guards might see the Athane at a distance but would not have come into her circle with such familiarity as Uri was exposed to now. Being a part of her household was a new experience, one that the Dwarrow would cherish in the years to come. Sigrid was a generous Queen and wanted good things for them all. Oin was thankful each day that Fili had married his One and not a Dwarrowdam of Herja’s ilk.

“Silinde will be most happy to see you again.” Willa looked at the Dwarf whose face was redder than Gloin’s hair.

“I have missed Silinde, Madam.” He was barely audible over the clopping of hooves as the horses took a breather.

Oin looked to Willa who shook her head, there was a tale there but she would not speak before the embarrassed Dwarrow at their back. The group continued their way under dark clouds as a light mist fell to ground. The temperatures dropped as the sun hid its face behind the charcoal cover, slowing the party further. By the time they reached Dale, the horses’ breath was visible in the saturated air.

Dale’s residents had deserted the streets, not even a cat or barking dog greeted them. The cold rain damped his spirits as Oin, Willa and Uri wound their way through the town to Willa’s house. Shutters were closed, as were doors with thick puffs of smoke rising from each chimney. The usually bright red roofs looked stained now, bloodied as the afternoon took a somber grayish cast.

Willa studied her yard behind the house as her assistant ran out of the door. He greeted them both happily as Oin dismounted to help Willa from her own steed. Perhaps, he held her waist a touch longer than needed but she seemed not to care of it.

“Thank you, Master Oin. Ithiel, my lad, you have been keeping busy, I see. That is good.” Willa handed the reins to the boy as she flexed her back with a groan. It was when she rubbed her hands down her backside that almost made Oin gasp in longing.

“The wood is stocked as you would wish. It looks like first snow tonight.” The lad looked up at the thickening clouds with dismay but also excitement.

“It does. Off with you and see to the horses, but be back before dark, mind. The weather will be that much worse when true night descends.” Willa turned to Uri who still sat upon his mount but gazed down the street. “Uri? Why don’t you go see Silinde and make sure she has enough supplies in case it snows?”

The Dwarrow’s face split in a wide smile as he tore down the avenue at a rapid pace. Oin stuttered at the Uri’s retreated figure, having wanted to get back now that the weather was in its decline. But that would mean leaving her. Willa shuffled into the house as Oin watched, already missing the healer. Ithiel lead his mare away before he could protest, standing at the open door with a morose expression.

Willa popped her head out with a smile at him. “Come and take off your coat, dear. You are soaked in.”

Oin followed as he was bid, closing the door to the cozy house. “Uri and I will need to return since the weather is getting worse.”

He didn’t want too, he didn’t want to leave but Oin couldn’t stay. As a healer and widow, she was respected, unsullied by capricious gossip. But if it were known that he was there, his age was not a deterrent to the whisperings of vicious tongues. Old he may be, Oin could romp in a hospitable furrow as any other Dwarf. His agility was evidenced by the hardening in his nethers at the thought of being here alone with Willa.

The room was indeed cozy, padded chairs with stitched patterned pillows Oin noticed as he walked inside to shut the door. She must have taken odds and ends to cover the stools for more comfort than leaving them a plain wood. Multi colored rugs littered the stone floor with thick pillows pilled on nearby. The raw beams high overhead bore the weight of numerous baskets of what smelled of herbs and dried fruits. The river rock hearth supported a metal grate where suspended kettle that was just beginning to whistle as Willa quickly removed it.

“Ohh… would you take his time away from his love?” The crafty grin was back, making his body itch with excitement. Willa Wheat was so very lovely when she smiled.

“What?” It was a mental stumble as the tall woman walked towards him draping her coat near the roaring fire that the boy had laid. Gently, she tugged his wet coat from him to lay it beside her own.

“Uri and Silinde have a romance going now for a few months.” Her smile became wider as she began to unlace his leather vest. Oin leaned into her fingers as they touched him. “The Queen is a kind woman who could never refuse someone the joy of new love.”

“Oh..” Oin felt confused at the possible implications of the Queen’s duplicity today but also he was confused at exactly who Willa meant. At least at first.

Her clever fingers pealed his vest away and toss it over to a chair to grasp the tunic underneath. Desire, cruel and wicked, bolted through his body like a maddened pony. His breath galloped in time with his heart when her body closed into his and her fingers tightened into his braids. A battle began in his mind as it warred with his body and his needs. An inquisitive tongue escaped to flick across her lips as they sought his.

The seal of the kiss was fragile yet held Oin hostage all the same. Warmth, desire and vicious hunger were winning against the teachings of youth in regards to proper behavior. But it wasn’t a rout as he pulled away, one thought near to his mind as passion smothered the rest.

“Willa, I respect you. We Dwarves are taught that such intimacies between a male and female…” It was almost a plead for her to be stronger than he for all he wanted to was to delve into her flesh and feel it take him, accept him as its own. The idea of her claiming him made Oin gasp with need.

The smile was kind that she gave him as Willa said. “Respect me, Oin. Venerate and admire me all you wish but Mahal’s sake touch me!”

Oin son of Groin never made it back to the Erebor that day.

***************

The grunts and cursing from the pair of Men was a distraction but Kili didn’t bother them for it. There had been precious little relief in Rivendell that he was aware of, so why bother the two friends in their activity. The evenings were cooler now, allowing for more vigorous doings in an effort to stay warm. Rubbing down Warg was a quick work of the hands that didn’t tax his thoughts over much as he settled into feeding the disagreeable mount. Daisy lipped his cloak then snorted at him for attention which he gladly gave to the recovering pony.

Looking at Isen and the Dunedain’s hardy mount, Kili thought to ask if they would prefer he take care of their horses but realized it cost the Men a moment on concentration. Neither would very appreciative to him for the lapse. Dorlad groaned particularly loud in a language that Kili was unfamiliar followed up with a thunk of flesh upon flesh.

“A man doesn’t know his true strength until he fears for his life.” Dorlad advised his opponent with a grin but quickly shoved his staff up to counter the overhead knock from Bain. “The Elves have tightened up your sloppy guard, I see.”

Yanking the quarterstaff back, Bain twirled the wood about his waist for the additional speed to brace an attempted strike at Dorlad’s calf. The Dunedain countered, pushing his weight down on the low end of the staff to try and dislodge the grip Bain had on the wood.”Glorfindel used that same maneuver. I was bruised for days when it came back against me.”

“Glorfindel, huh? He prefers his swords to staffs.” Dorland shot the end of the staff forward quickly past Bain’s guard but skimmed his shoulder instead of striking his face. “I have never seen him even use the staff.”

“I never want to see it again! He doesn’t pull his punches when he spars.” The young Man swore as the Dunedain landed a hit on the upper thigh. “Oy. That’s three.”

“You’re getting better!” The two Men clasped hands as the fight ended with Dorlad the winner again but Bain was learning.

The wood staffs had been a present from the former lord to Bain so that he might continue his education with the different weapons. Some nights, they would switch off with Kili joining as well. Bain was a fair archer, learning the spear now along the sword. The sparing sessions had been a bit difficult for Kili with his shorter height, worried as he was that the maneuvers he knew would injure the lad instead of instruct him. Dorlad was a better teacher than he at any road, with as many years under his sword and the longer reach to be effective for the young Man to learn. At the end of this quest, Bain would find himself a worthy guardsman for any company if he were not already the Prince of Dale.

Battle is a hard business according to Dwalin. Soft training made for soft Dwarves who ultimately took a seat in the Halls of Waiting. Kili had started with staffs as a stripling, graduating to different levels of weapons as he grew and became proficient at their handling. Dwalin was an axe wielder, a harder weapon to use but it was lethal in the hands of the master warrior. His brother preferred his axe as well, while Kili had taken to the long sword and bow faster than he should have according the grumblings of other Dwarves. The gossipy Dwarrows couldn’t see it was easier to kill a buck with an arrow than a sword.

The North South road was not as nice as the Greenway but at least, Kili held some knowledge of their location. There had been merchants with goods to sell in Eriandor who would take a road that connected to this one north towards the Elven lands. Memories of strained muscles from helping dig cart wheels sunk five inches in the muck were very hard to forget. While Kili and the other Dwarves had never ventured into the Elvish lands themselves, the way was clear in his memory despite those years of long ago.

Some of the patrons had treated them kindly then, the sister sons of a King in exile. Others who had no love of Dwarvish culture saw them as a necessary evil that must be endured. They were considered crude fellows with a good strong sword arm and nothing more. Burin had been their companion then, coming along with Dwalin, Fili and himself. The affable Dwarrow never took their comments to heart, overlooking much and saying little when the others had to be held back from slaughter.

Though Burin was older than Kili and Fili, Oin and Gloin had asked him to remain behind instead of joining Thorin's company. Gimli needed a minder to keep him out of the trouble he would have started if left on his own. Burin had not liked it in the least but stayed out of respect for the sons of Groin who had looked after him since their refuge days. Burin’s parents had not escaped the Desolation but Oin and Gloin raised him as if he was their own. He was a good shield to have in a fight, Kili admitted wishing that he had thought now to ask Burin to join himself and Bain on this journey.

He missed them tonight, found his mind turning to Erebor and Thorin’s Halls in Ered Luin. The life they had lead before taking the quest had been a fulfilling one once they had passed the lean years. Thorin’s Halls had been a bustling city with Frerin’s court to the northwest as an outpost. The nights of hunting fresh game in the hills to provide for his family had been welcome even though Thorin had laughed that it wasn’t needed now. Kili had always given the surplus to families in need no matter the race.

Halhod son of Gamilhod had been left in charge of Thorin’s halls once his mother prepared for her journey to the Lonely Mountain. It had been agreed before Thorin ever set foot on the road that the change in leadership for the Halls should he be successful to prevent strife and unrest in what had been a peaceful community. Not all Longbeards would have made the journey back to the mountain, having close connects to other races in that region. The Elves in Lindon under the Lordship of Cirdan had traded modestly but it had not been encouraged due to Thorin’s prejudice. The Dourhands were an unforgiving sort and had long coveted the delf they considered theirs by right.

The meal of Elvish bread and dried meat went down better with the wine and exercise after the horses had been tended. The Dunedain was used to eating lean, Kili supposed as the race all seemed to bear a reed thin look. They were of sturdy stock, quite different from some of the Men he had known over the course of his years. He bore not a greedy shift of the eyes or quick fingers, no, Kili thought. Dorlad wasn’t one to steal from them. He wouldn’t cut them in their sleep and take their horses and weapons. Kili felt almost sad that he had not made the acquaintance of the Dunedain when Durin’s folk had resided in the Ered Luin.

Kili sat with the others, savoring the sense of loneliness and freedom that comes only from sojourns under different skies.  It was far from his home, farther than he had traveled in his guardian years. The roughness of the land was broken by knolls and thick forests with scampering game at the fringes. The Dunedain had a small outpost that they would reach in two days, giving them a soft bed to look forward too.

“I must say you know how to travel, Master Dwarf.” Dorland smiled at him as Kili took out his blades to check their edge. “I thought Dwarves cared not for anything but their caves and hoards, leaving only when they must. You have the lighter degree of one who has journeyed a long way.”

Kili groaned at him for a moment while Bain ribbed at them both good naturedly. “At least he knew how to sit a horse. Isen was my first mount and I think he taught me more than I did him.”

The laughter erupted from the two Men as Isen knowing himself to be a part of their conversation blew out his breath to them. Warg had taken to his time at Rivendell with his usual grouchy air of dismissal and ill humor. Several Elves had complained of being bitten when they strayed too close to the pony. But Daisy had recovered, healed by the Elves for which Kili was most grateful.

“I journeyed out of necessity in the beginning, guarding caravans and merchants. Later, it was for Erebor that I rode, that is how I learned to travel.” The years of searching the Wilderlands for enemies, rumors and a good bloody fight had taught him much but also gave him harder sensibilities. “We, Durin’s Folk, were robbed of the mountains we have loved for years. First Mount Gundabad, then Khazad Dum, finally Erebor. Do you not see that, Dorlad? Can you not imagine our rage? We are a proud people only to be treated as vagabonds, beggars who live with the memories of starving kin.”

It had not started as harsh words, not an expression of hate towards a forgotten enemy. But with each sentence, the anger awoke inside like a wild beast to snap at the cage that held it. They were a proud race and they would go on being proud until they sat in stone before Mahal. Kili loved his people and could see across the firelight the same love in the Dunedain as well. The beast inside him settled, recognizing a kindred of the same soul. The Dwarf bowed his head in apology for somethings they never forget when hurts run deep.

Dorlad smiled in understanding at the look on Kili’s face. “At least for you there was a battle, a fight to be remembered for what you have lost. We, Numenóreans were not conquered. We were deceived. Once more and again, each and every time we settle in life.”

Bain watched from the other side of the firelight as the Dwarf and the Man came to terms and find common ground. Neither male had the loving memory of a plentiful kingdom. Numenor had been taken back by the sea. Arnor had been obliterated by wars of the Nazgul, plagues and internal political strife. Gondor had fared no better in the years since the last alliance, tittering on its edge of ruin at Mordor’s feet.

The prince of Dale spoke with quiet fervor. “There is no shame in what happened to either of your peoples. There is only shame in being too much of a craven to carry on. Durin’s Folk has risen from destruction of a dragon, so too will the Dunedain rise above the fall of the old Kingdoms.”

 

Dorlad tossed a wineskin to Bain with a sigh. “May it be within my lifespan. In two days we will arrive at a mixed village of Dunedain about another day’s ride west of Isenguard. You will know then of what I speak.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crap! I wanted this out before now.. It occurs to me that after I read through this the first 3 paragraphs of Kili's chptr were rather sexual ... lol. it wasn't intended that way, it was written first! I wanted some Oin time so it came first lol. Nori, Dwalin and Olrun are next because they have finally arrived at the mountain ! YaY !
> 
> A few things...  
> Silinde – Shining song and was the name of a Mirkwood elf at the council of Elrond. I chose it because to me it isn’t outside the possibility of the people of lake town naming their children after Elves. her and Uri will be in the sequel to this one.  
> Halhod was the name of a Dwarf that went to Rivendell. I took it that if he was of importance to go the council of Rivendell, then Thorin might have trusted him enough to hold his Halls after Dis left the Blue Mountains. He will go to Erebor eventually ...  
> Gamilhod- is a made up name with Gamil meaning old.  
> Svava (Oin/Gloins mom’s name) was a Valkyrie and her name means sleep maker. I wanted Oin to have gotten his wanting to be a healer from her and was close to her.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok.. this chapter reflects the following pairings.
> 
> Oin/Willa with Uri (I couldn't resist, love me Oin)  
> Dwalin/Olrun with the group  
> Balin/Dis

****

Mornings are not always welcome.

Oin had convinced Ithiel to run to Silinde’s house to rouse Uri so that they could be on their way as soon as possible. It had taken a few silver coins but in the end it was a worthwhile investment as his brother would say. The Dwarf knew not what the boy had heard from Willa’s bedroom in the night and he didn’t care. But Ithiel leaving also allowed him another hour with Willa before he made the long trek back to the Lonely Mountain without her. It hurt, leaving her bed, leaving Willa and her sweet touch.

It was an addiction, less forgiving than pipeweed and more dangerous than spirits. Oin knew he had put up an argument in the beginning, he was proud of himself for that little bit of fortitude but it was for naught in the end. He could not deny her, not her asking of his touch and never her pleading for him later in her rooms. All through the night and into the pink haze of morning when the night let loose its hold upon the world, Oin knew love and experienced its pleasurable aftershock. He was undone by it and remade as Willa’s.

He had napped off and on but awoke to feel her fingers at his hair, tugging a braid into his curls. When he raised his head slowly from the pillow of her breast, Willa told him quietly that she claimed him. Oin son of Groin was hers, body and soul but she would leave the telling of kin to him. In his own time, she said with a smile. The kiss he gave her left them both breathless and wanting. The ignition of her hands upon his skin, in his hair drove him mad with desire that only she could extinguish. The resulting destruction of her sheets was testimony that not all of the Dwarves mellow with age.

The snow had stopped sometime in the night and the sun would be rising soon. They had dressed quickly trying and failing to keep from falling into each other as need rose and rose again. He knew not nor understood his continued urgency despite their consummation, just felt it deep in his marrow that Oin should not leave her. Willa, frowning in frustration at his departure, packed a satchel of food and beer for them to eat on the trail since time was critical. She had not wanted to let go in their final embrace, holding him tightly but Oin knew his absence would be marked. He could only hope to negate it in some fashion to keep the talk down until he spoke with Groin in person as his closest kin. What he wouldn’t give to be able to get into the Erebor via the secret way.

They set off at a slow pace so the ponies didn’t slip over slushy and ice packed streets. The paths to Erebor would be just as dangerous with its loose shale and jagged rocks now snow covered. Willa had given him a lock of hair after he put a braid at her left temple along with a clasp to hold it. The braid she gave him was set at the back of his head under its thick grey mass until Oin gave his brother the news. He could then braid his right temple to show the mountain that he had been claimed.

They took a less direct route that carts used as it was better for the ponies. The steep grades would be faster but neither Uri nor Oin wanted an unnecessary injury. Once or twice, Uri pointed to the east saying he thought he heard animal traffic but nothing was ever seen. If someone was on the grades, likely as not they were on foot.

The heavy grey overhead were clearing now that they had dumped their fluffy weight upon the mountain. Sparkling ice in the morning sun would soon melt as the temperatures rose but for now only Oin and Uri were gifted by its radiance. Their breaths plumed in the air like drifting low clouds, floating behind in a lazy trail. The ponies didn’t seem to mind the outing thought the two Dwarrows aback spoke little.

Oin had no idea what to say to the Dwarrow at his side. No doubt if he spent the night with his love, Uri had to wonder in the morning why Oin didn’t come to fetch him to leave yesterday. Maybe he had come to the house at some point the way Ithiel had and decided against an interruption. Some Dwarrows were more circumspect in their physicality than others but the stigma for laying unwed with a female was still the same.

“How is the healer this morning, Uz Oini?” The Dwarrow ventured quietly, very hesitantly.

“Well.” There was nothing else he could say to the question without making the whole business worse.

The gates were close, giving Oin a breather since on the early morning guard was still out of doors. He knew the guards well and they would hold their tongues. They had made better time than he had assumed, basically eating and drinking in the saddle. Uri began to shift and twitch beside him in an uncomfortable manner.

“Uz Oini, may I ask a favor? Please?” The Dwarrow was trembling now that another Dwarrow walked outside. “Please don’t tell my brother that I stayed with Silinde? They have not met and I wouldn’t have him think ill of her before the meeting.”

Oin looked at the Dwarrow with a wide eyes and a happy smile. “I will tell him we bedded down before the hearth in the Healer Wheat’s solar.”

“Oh thank you, Uz Oini! I want to bring her to the festival next week and introduce her to my brother, Duri. She knew the Athane in Laketown, they were friends.” The Dwarrow continued with a relieved gush.

They drew abreast Duri who stood with his hands on wide hips, staring at his younger brother. He bowed his head to Oin but gave a glare at his sibling as the morning sun glinted off his metal plating. A head guard, Oin guessed by his helm but in the barracks and not attached to the Queen. Suddenly, Oin didn’t think he liked the look on this Dwarrow’s face in the least. His guard was too rigid and his spine was too straight, like a pike had been shoved up his bottom.

“You were gone all night, Uri.” His brother said with a firm tone as the younger Dwarrow dismounted his pony. The stern voice was grating so early before the chickens crowed.

“Yes, we were, Duri. Thank you for stating the obvious. We stayed over due to the weather.” Oin said nothing else, nor would he allow Uri to lie. Lies had a way of coming back on the teller, if his impression of Duri was correct.

This Dwarrow was used to pushing his brother, striping his confidence. Even now, Oin could see that Duri wanted to spout off at him for answering for his brother but dared not for Oin was Thorin’s company and Master of the Healing halls. He couldn’t cross Oin without fearing repercussions later. He would never condone his brother’s relationship with a lady from Dale, friend of the Queen or not. Mahal’s forge, Oin hated a bully and that was exactly what Duri was.

“I hope you didn’t engage in any foolishness or trouble for the Master while you were there.” Uri hadn’t looked up since the tirade began, peeving Oin into action. He grabbed the younger Dwarrow to lead him away, using Uri’s pony as a blocker between the brothers as they trudged under the causeway to the stables.

“You didn’t even plait your bachelor and warrior braids in this morning!” An angered Dwarrow snarled quietly behind him.

“No.” Oin said with a smile over his shoulder. “He didn’t!”

**************

Nori was sick of the fighting.

Instead of the uncomfortable tension filled silence, Olrun and Dwalin were bickering nonstop like two ravens fighting over an Orc’s eyeball. It was either hot or cold with those two, never a median temperature. Little snippy comments, zingers for lack of a better word meant to wound the other in their soft parts. Nori had seen such things between close friends and lovers. Eventually, one would cross a line, say something without thought but would stick a knife deeply in the heart’s flesh of the other to puncture the chances of a budding relationship. Dwalin needed another target besides Olrun and hopefully, Nori.

The weather had turned frosty causing problems with the boars. Oilskins and woven mats had been broken out to cover their bodies in the night, but also to keep the young females warm that Verdandi had brought along for breeding. As the chill air turned colder, the female Dwarves and swine both kept covered into the day. Vigdis and Verdandi as well as Olrun and Skuld at times would bed down with the swine to help circulate the warmth but also to reaffirm their scents to the herd so that the pigs knew that they were not alone.

Vigdis was becoming quite the coconspirator, standing between Thorin Stonehelm and Dwalin on occasion to keep their captain from learning something he shouldn’t just now. Had she been a Dwarrow, Nori might have considered offering her a bead. Fresh and young with a naiveté that he so loved, Vigdis was well on her way to being his best ‘dam pal! The females he had known in life had something uncomfortable stuck up their backsides that made any overtures of friendship impossible. But Vigdis, oh not her, she flung herself into the fray without thought or ideas of recrimination after Nori convinced her that the Stonehelm’s cover was also his noose. Ahh the follies of our youth.

At present, she was happily torturing Thorin who had tried and failed to escape her verbal net. The Prince of the Iron Court could make no move against her here in front of Dwalin except threats on what would be awaiting her upon her non specified return to Linnar’s halls. Her father and mother were even now casting very concerned looks in Vigdis’ direction as her voice had waivered back to them and some of the comments had been overheard. Bifur snorted beside him as Nori quietly chuckled.

Pushing at Nori’s shoulder, Bifur through complicated hand gestures and broken Khudzul asked, “What are you up to now, Fox?”

Still chortling, Nori shrugged. “I need to get Dwalin and Olrun on better terms since we are a day out from the mountain. But I swear, I am enjoying Vigdis more than I should.”

Staring off at the distance, the Lonely Mountain came into view. Bifur sighed again and continued. “Dwalin is easy but quit egging the ‘dam on. Unnar and Jari will tell tales of her when we reach Erebor.”

Nori shot his friend a look, before looking to Vigdis then to Unnar and Jari. It was true that Unnar was a gossipy self-righteous Dwarrow. There was ambition written in every line of his body, touching every action and comment he made. He had high hopes of advancing to take Dwalin’s place one day as Captain of the Royal Guard and had no problems smearing a few people’s reputation to grease his way up. But Jari wasn’t like that, not at all.

“Jari won’t! He likes me.” Nori’s relationship with the guardsman had been pure circumstance after the second day of travel. Half the fun had been to keep quiet enough on those long nights of guard duty.

“Jari is trail fucking you. He will be back after Burin when we get past the gates.” Bifur snorted, making gestures with his fingers to emphasize his point. “I thought you were smarter than this.”

Nori had a moment of doubt but remembered the fun loving Dwarrow at Erebor who had been raised by Oin and Gloin. “Burin won’t have him.”

“No, he won’t. But Jari will have forgotten you nevertheless.”

Bifur wasn’t pulling his opinions, it was one of the things that Nori had always loved about the Dwarrow. He may not have all the words in their language or others since the Orc’s axe was imbedded in his head, nor was he the most patient of their race. But Bifur was loyal were others didn’t under the meaning of the word. Bifur was true friend to Nori, if for no other reason than he accepted the thief as he was and would always have his back in a fight.

“I must be getting old.”Nori grimaced as he looked down at his mount. The placid pony was a boon in times of fickleness in others.

“No. Just sentimental. We all do.” Bifur pointed to Olgr and Verdandi with a smile as the Dwarrow kissed his wife’s hand as they rode side by side. “None of us what to be alone. Some of us are lucky to find our One or at least happiness with a mate.”

Skuld rode onward to Olrun’s side just ahead of her Aunt and Uncle. She was a sweet ‘dam, nothing harsh or sly that Nori could see. He had been paying very close attention. Dis had not known the chit in the least and would be most curious, asking him all when they arrived home to Erebor. She might be the next Queen under the Mountain so impressions counted for a lot. Nori had not seen the steel in her spine that would keep her upright on that pillion beside the throne but she was young and might find it later. A soft Athane was a credit to no one. She understood propriety well enough, not in anyone’s way and very polite. Unnar and Jari kept their distance as was appropriate towards a Dwarrowdam, even from Vigdis and Olrun.

Maybe Bifur was right, Vigdis would be remarked upon as a spear maiden in contrast to Skuld who was in some ways more proper. Dwarrowdams going to battle was not unheard of but it wasn’t the norm here. Their females stayed in seclusion within their husband’s halls unless they were part of large Delf such as Erebor or Khazad Dum had been before Durin’s Bane was discovered. Durin’s Folk was notoriously weak in female population were others had a higher ratio of ‘dams to Dwarrows. Vigdis would been seen as either a female of strength and worth or a scandal and threat to the encroached females who wanted to be served but not asked to serve. Why make it worse by letting tales circulate that she wasn’t subtle about nettling others?

Ravens cawed overhead, circling their group as the company pulled to a stop by the Red Spring. They were the early warning, racing on the wind to tell of any danger to the mountain and Durin’s folk. Carc was a dedicated member of Erebor, thanks to the continued efforts of Fili and his council. Their black wings blotted the sun to cast shadows upon the ground swirling in the slow moving arcs. Ravens were considered animals of ill omens by some, Nori thought as he watched the ink spots race across the sky but never the Dwarves. They owed their very lives to them.

One flew low, obviously to get a good look at the assembly as the Dwarves huddled together in the cold afternoon sun. Dwalin held up his arm as a perch for the animal who banked sharply and back winged to take flight towards the Mountain. The ravens’ comrades followed, pursuing their leader back to Ravenhill. They had been spotted, soon Nori would have to explain the mess he had created between Olrun and Dwalin.

Dwalin hollered down the line to make camp. The spring was as good a place as any since they were now on Erebor’s lands and close to the mountain. There was the possibility of riding longer but they had good water with rocks and standing trees for a break against the night wind. The pine needles were heavy on the ground here, too. They would make better bedding for the swine and the Dwarves among them than cold rock.

Vigdis and her father, Olgr, began to care for the animals checking their hooves and making sure that oilskins were secure. Tents were set up in the copse as firewood was gathered for a large fire, maybe two if enough was gathered. Orcs and other enemies had not been seen so only one guard was needed tonight. Nori began to unload his pony and the others, nodding to Jari who raised an eyebrow to him in question. The star haired thief had too much on his mind based on the current circumstances with their leader and his lady. Thanks to what Bifur had to impart, Nori wasn’t sure he wanted a last hoorah with the Dwarf anyway.

Red Spring had taken its name from the aftermath of the Great Battle. Many of Dain’s wounded had taken refuge not far way to heal before making the long trip back to the Iron Hills. The spring had run red with Dwarf blood and taken many days to clear enough for drinking after they had polluted it so disastrously. There had been the most horrendous stench upon the Mountain as bodies of enemies were stacked and burned that the Iron Court Dwarrows had wanted to escape at the first opportunity. And who could blame them, Nori still had a problem with charred meat at times after smelling burned Orc and Troll for five days.

Vigdis called to her mother to come for some reason that Nori couldn’t hear but he caught a sly smile on the ‘dam’s face before she turned away. She walked over to Bifur, speaking low then nodded towards the stand of trees near the streambed. A smile split the injured Dwarf’s face as he took a handful of twine and led some of the ponies to the river. Curiosity was its own sin, but the look on Vigdis’ face made Nori more than curious. It worried him. What sort of monster had he created with this Dwarrowdam?

“Nori.” Vigdis smiled sweetly. “I need to you beguile the Stonehelm.”

Yes, Nori thought, I have created a baby troll. His hands stilled on the girth for a few minutes to stare at the Dwarrowdam to his left as she ran a hand over the animal’s rump. Looking back to his saddle, Nori tugged the heavy load from the pony’s back along with the blanket. He wasn’t sure if he heard her correctly. She couldn’t possibly understand what she was asking.

“Beguile?”

“Assail?Woo? Charm him and get into his pants?” Nori watched in horrified fascination as her sweet smile didn’t change only her bushy eyebrows skating up her smooth brow. “I need him distracted.”

Yes, Nori thought shaking his head, she isn’t a baby now. Vigdis is on her way to being a fully grown Mountain Troll. “Yes, I am sure me making an advance on Prince Thorin would distract anyone. He is of royal blood, child.”

Vigdis persisted. “You said it yourself, he didn’t make it known that he was son of the Ironfoot. He cannot gripe if someone takes him for a common Dwarrow.”

Nori dropped the leather saddle, tossing its blanket on top. “What’s in it for me?” If he gets to piss off the prince and Nori was sure it would, it had better be worth his while.

“I am going to solve your problem with Aunt and her Dwarrow.” The smile eased back into place, knowing now that she had him. Nori had worried to her often in the last two days about the pair.

Nori batted the idea around for a few minutes, not only because he was slightly unsure of the outcome but he want to leave the Dwarrowdam hanging a little. It was best never to seem too eager even if it gets your stones out of a vise. Staring around the camp once more, he saw Dwalin talking to Jari and Balfor pointing off to the horizon. Stonehelm was standing with Lady Skuld now and Olrun as they let their rooters free of their saddle pads. Everyone was about a task and none were paying the two of them any attention.

Left hand companions were a tenuous lot, the first move is often the worst part. Nori had never propositioned Thorin, it had been his idea from the beginning. Taking the Oakenshield for a lover had been quite bead in his hair for the trickster, enjoying it more than he should. When Bilbo was approached, Nori stepped aside with grace. It was not a love affair as it was between Bilbo and Thorin. Just trail fucking. But still Thorin was royalty as was the Stonehelm. Royal blood was a difficult thing for an enterprising Dwarrow to forget despite the fact that all Dwarrows are the same in the dark and still let loosen their seed the same.

“What’s your plan?” Nori looked at Dwalin again as he pulled his pipe from an inside pocket, a plan of his own starting to formulate.

“Already in motion and would take alway the element of surprise to discuss it completely.” Nori watched Vigdis give a nod to her mother then turned to hiss at him. “Get moving!”

Nori was taken aback by her forcefulness but as she walked quickly to her Aunt and cousin, he followed at a discreet distance. Verdandi walked to the outer edge of the herd, close to Jari and Dwalin. Balfor joined her with checking the feet as they talked quietly. Vigdis ushered the Ladies towards the riverbank as Thorin made to follow them after he removed his helm and placed it on his saddle horn. Now he understood why Thorin needed following, the Ironfoot’s son wasn’t about to let the Lady Olrun on her own so close to Erebor.

“I say, Farli!” Nori caught up to him at a jog. The red haired Dwarf stopped as the Trickster drew abreast. “I was wondering if I might ask you for a favor. My pipe is a bit lonely and could do with some company.”

The Dwarf snorted at his graceless innuendo as Nori tapped the pipe’s stem on the Dwarf’s leather gambeson. ‘Farli’ looked him over with ill concealed annoyance before turning back to follow the Ladies to the river. Nori made a clucking sound as he looked over the Dwarrow from head to boot. Not his type, a bit weak in the jowl than Nori liked in a lover with that air of superiority that was found heavy in the Durin royal lines.

“You have company already or has the freshness left the meat and its beginning to spoil? No fun chasing caught game is it, Nori of Erebor?” The distain was there in the Iron Hills Dwarf’s tone, peeving Nori incessantly.

Trying to swallow passed his anger, Nori caught the Dwarf by the shoulder to stop him only to be shaken off with a grunt. “You are right, I thought a last bit of fun before we arrive at the Mountain was in order. I can’t remember boarding an Iron Hills Dwarrow and having one under my belt would be a treat.”

“Not interested.”

Nori persisted, dancing in between the Dwarf as the Ladies walked out of sight to the river pasted the trees. Normally they would have an escort and Stonehelm was getting flustered by Nori touching his thickly padded arms. Nice, the trickster thought as he dodged in front of Thorin again.

“Give it a try? You might find Erebor Dwarrows are to your liking. We are a little on the thinner side but we can still take a good ride.” Looking over the Dwarrow’s shoulder Verdandi called to Dwalin and pointed to the river as Bifur walked out of the stand of trees.

The Stonehelm before him was beginning to blush or get angry, Nori couldn’t tell. His face grew an unpleasant shade of orange so close to his red beard. He didn’t know the Iron Court Dwarrow well enough to say but there was something boiling under the surface. The star haired Dwarf had pissed on the line of decency as he continued to divert Thorin’s attention. Dwalin looked at the river and set off at a brisk walk, solidly single minded as ever. Jari was staring now at Thorin and Nori with a look of confusion since Dwalin was in pursuit of what Nori hoped was Olrun.

“What will it take for you to leave me in peace? I care not for the affections of Dwarrows.” Thorin whined at little at the beginning, sounding like a stripling than a mature Dwarf. It was all Nori could do to not roll his eyes at the Dwarrow’s childishness.

Suddenly, Vigdis came walking very fast out of the stand of trees, tugging her cousin behind her. Both girls were smiling wide and trying not to giggle as Bifur joined them. Vigdis gave him a bigger smile and a nod before angling her head to the river. Neither Dwalin nor Olrun followed which was a positive sign to the Erebor Dwarrow. Whatever she had attempted had been a success, leaving Nori free to drop his game with Thorin.

Nori smiled down at the Stonehelm and huffed a sigh. “On second thought, you are right. I don’t want to play hide the pipe stem with you.”

*8*8*8*8*

Olrun took the bar soap to wash her hands and face in the chilly stream. Staying here tonight was a better idea than try to press onward and get caught in a less than hospitable place. She had not been Erebor before, many had not but the tales of Desolation were not idle ones. The boars were liking the cold not at all and they were being rather stubborn about it. Olrun couldn’t blame them even a little, so used were they to their warm comforts in the Iron Hills.

The Boar hall had fireplaces at either end to keep the temperatures consistent year round. The boars didn’t sweat like other animals might, needing colder temperatures than what would be considered ideal. But the consistency was the key to their lives and an upset routine made for an unhappy mount. While they were expected to train with their sounders, it was mainly for exercise in the colder months to keep their conditioning. It had been a mistake for them to leave the Iron Court with winter galloping down upon them.

Vigdis and Skuld were not far away as Olrun unraveled her braids, with Vigdis begging her cousin to help teach her about dancing for when they arrived at the Mountain Court. Olgr’s daughter had never been much for the so called feminine side of her education, preferring battle training to courtly affairs. If only her brother’s daughter could understand how little difference there was between the two, Olrun thought with a mental snort. The spear maiden’s young years had been sheltered in Linnar’s hall until Verdandi had been called to the Iron Court to assist with the Abkarul Hakhd. Dain had indulged her training instead of sending her to Kibil’s chamber, more due to Olrun’s intervention than actual need. Though when Vigdis had stood her ground and taken down some attacking Orcs upon Wargs with her sounder a decade ago, Dain had changed his tune about the Dwarrowdam.

Of late, she had been in Thorin’s confidence as well as Nori’s. Olrun wasn’t sure what to make of Nori but Thorin Stonehelm was a pig of a different litter. Olrun knew there could be nothing between the Stonehelm and Vigdis, no marriage nor mention of consort’s position. Her brother and near sister would never agree, nor would Lord Linnar. But what Vigdis’ game was worried Olrun, along with whatever issues that shaved Dwalin’s beard in such fine style to twist everything about him into knots.

The Dwarf was well on his way to being killed at her hand if Olrun didn’t already love him. Each morning for more days than she wanted to count his words had been filled with sarcasm if not salted liberally with the same. It was brought out her edged tongue as well, slicing at Dwalin as he did with her. Love and hate, two sides of the same coin, she thought with sadness. Strong emotions could lead to strong words especially when neither of them would restrain themselves.

A loud crashing behind her in the trees startled Olrun to stand quickly and spin around to see Dwalin getting tangled in what looked like twine of some sort. The Dwarrowdam took a step forward and opened her mouth to speak when a sudden shove at her middle back had her tumbling forward as Dwalin himself began to fall. His eyes widen in alarm and jerked her against them as they both fell on the riverbank’s sand. Her Dwarrow took the brunt of the fall, grunting when she landing atop him.

Her breath knocked out of her, Olrun laid her head on Dwalin’s barrel chest. His arms tightened around her, holding her close. The smells of pipeweed, pony and distinctly male teased her senses, causing her to grip his shoulders in response. Unable to stand it any longer, Olrun raised her head to look at the Dwarf who was everything she had ever wanted.

“What the..”

“Ohhhh  ...Shut up, Dwalin!” Olrun slammed her mouth on his, cutting off whatever insult was forthcoming. His lips were eager, claiming control as he crushed her body in stronger arms.

Oh such a kiss! Never had there been anything that could set her on fire faster than a touch or look from this Dwarrow. He was her love, her life from the stubborn bald head to the thick massive feet. Flames licked her spine, spreading heat in pulsing waves. Cold shivers followed closely, making her gasp at the sensation. Fire and ice, polar opposites took possession of her thoughts to control her responses. More, he had to get give her move of this incredible feeling.

Rolling them over, Dwalin broke the kiss to nibble along her braided jaw to suck skin at her neck. “Oh give me your hair, please Gehyu.”

Wrapping her arms his neck to hold Dwalin at her own, Olrun moaned. “Yes! Touch my hair! Please… oh Dwalin.”

“Lady Olrun!” The loud screech of the Stonehelm slapped away the passion which was rippling through her body at Dwalin’s lips and hands.

*******************

Balin sat back in his chair, the weight of the day bearing hard on his shoulders. There were days like this he was both proud and crushed to be the chancellor to the King under the Mountain. He found as he sat in his chair in this deep room under the stone weight that he could remember the time before much easier. Before Smaug, before the deaths of so many of Durin’s Folk here and at Moria. Balin’s memories started here in this large dome of rock, some in this room. He had been lucky to have been chosen as an apprentice to the chancellor, learning statecraft firsthand. Life had been different then, no more or less perilous than it was today. His wife, Trima had been there as his sounding board, an unbiased ear and shoulder for him in the dark nights when doubt crept into his mind.

When she had not made it out alive from the Mountain, Balin had thought his life was over. Trima had been his everything, the other side of himself. Dwalin in his own fashion had helped him pick up the pieces and join the ranks for the assault at Azanulbizar. It was battle rage that pushed him into the vanguard of the second assault, it was a death’s wish that kept him there. There was no shame in falling in battle, many a mourning Dwarrow had walked to face such an end with a fierce cry. But Mahal had spared him those days and continued to spare him the sweet release of death.

When Erebor had been retaken, Balin and the others gave the dead a proper burial in the deeps. Trima’s body he had found stumped in a corner, spear in hand towards the guard’s room door. She had marshalled the others there to find a way out, only to realize there was none. His spear maiden wore the blood Ruby set in Mithril that had been his mother’s, it was the only way Balin had known it was her. Trima had survived until the end, held her honor against an insurmountable force to protect her people. It humbled him but also filled him with pride that he had been claimed in marriage to such a female of strength and valor.

Here at the Mountain the memories of her were at his fingertips. The days of seeing her train in the yards with the others, of chasing her to the baths for their quiet time together. The gallery of Kings was were she had asked him to be hers, braiding his hair before giving him a kiss that blinded his world to nothing save her smile. The feast of Durin was where she had announced to their families that she claimed Balin son of Fundin as her own to the resounding cheers of the attended. The Tombs below blared the memory of his last goodbye to his warrior love.

A ruckus outside his door brought his attention to the portal that conjoined his chamber with the rest of the mountain. There was so little peace in life, why should he be granted any? The Princess Dis strode through the door, laughing loudly with the Lady Eir at her elbow. Balin shook his head at the pair of ‘dams that could in one moment make his life both better and worse. Each in their own measure.

“Why do you smile so, my princess?” Balin asked as she came inside after leaving Lady Eir to return to her station down the hall.

“The Queen is playing at matchmaking.” Dis took a seat without being directed, a habit of old friends who share a kinship.

There had been so much austerity lately, so to see Dis with such a grin was a blessing of the Great Smith. Chuckling at her wide smile, Balin gave over to her enthusiasm for she was in the know faster than he of late. Days like this Balin missed Nori and the tales he could unearth. Likely as not, the former thief would have been way ahead of the Queen in the pairing of two individuals.

“Oh?” The aged chancellor found that some good gossip would chase the old hurts away as he regarded the lady beside him.

“Yes.” Dis answered with a smile. “Have you seen Oin today?”

The princess sat upright, smoothing down her faded blue skirts. It was a trait that Balin had always admired about Dis and her less than royal ways. She preferred her clothes as functional never flashy. The Daughter of Thrain could have been spoiled beyond reckoning as the only girl child born in Erebor for the passing of an age. Loved and cossetted before she could walk, it was the hardships in Ered Luin that had forged her metal into strong steel.

“No.” Balin thought for a moment. “No, I haven’t. But that isn’t unusual.”

It wasn’t his habit to be in the company of many at the end of each day. He would take his meals to the upper gallery above the halls some nights when he had enough of everyone and all the headaches forthwith. Balin served at the pleasure of the King but there were days he wanted to be to himself.

“None have mentioned seeing him or Uri since yesterday when they left to accompany Healer Wheat.” Dis adopted a smug air, smiling like a cat that got the cream.

“Could they have been caught in the storm? Has anyone gone to see if there was an accident?” The idea of old Oin frozen to death in the slip of land that separated Dale and Erebor had Balin almost out of his chair.

Orcs had not been spotted near Erebor since the Great Battle giving them six years of peace. But the weather turning foul, with biting winds and the sharp cold the Ravens wouldn’t have been flying at all yesterday. It would have been quite simple for the Orcs or Trolls to sneak in under the cover of the weather and harm a trio of travelers whose guard might be down due to icy rain and the nearness of home.

“Burin is quite beside himself. He looked for Oin to return last night but when he failed to do so, Burin begged leave to go to Dale.” Dis threw back her head with a deep laugh. “Sigrid refused to allow him to leave until first light.”

“Something might have happened to him, Dis.” Balin spoke with concern. Oin was a friend to him, a bosom companion along with Gloin in their stripling years.

Still laughing, Dis exclaimed. “I guarantee you something did happen to Master Oin, old friend. Likely, he will come back to the mountain a changed Dwarrow!”

Balin turned from her laughter, shuffling papers together in vexation. “I don’t need a changed Dwarrow, I need an experienced fighter who can heal as well as he kills when I go to Moria.”

He got from the chair to pull two old maps that Eir had unearthed recently on the deeps and lower halls as well as the Great Chamber. The more he studied the lay of the halls and the lower levels the more he was convinced with the right number of colonists, reclamation was possible. There were holes in the upper edges of the map with a few disintegrated ends but mostly the paper had held until Ori had unearthed it from a fallen shelf.

“Not Khazad Dum again, Balin.” Dis gave a long tired sigh, all mirth fled in the face of the old discussion. “We are not ready. Your brother has not returned. The Kin-Strife…”

“May not happen here, my princess. We know not what the future brings, only this. If we ignore the opportunity of resettlement in Khazad Dum the way Thranduil did at Dol Guldor, the enemy will fill it up once more. Our foes will grow strong on what we live behind.” Balin had seen this time and again, the mistakes of the past marring the future. The window was closing for them to retake the Dwarrowdelf.

“I can’t argue for Moria until I know my family is safe.” Her tone was firm as stone and just as unyielding.

Balin nodded to show he understood for he did. None had given more blood and pain to this mountain than Dis and he couldn’t fault her wishes. “I understand, Dis. Fili might not thank you for what you have done, possibly be angry. A mother’s love is just as powerful as a King’s wrath. But I am fighting for all of us, for Durin’s Folk to survive more than one generation.”

“Why do you think I sent your brother to the Iron Court?!” Dis swept from the room in an angry huff as Balin folded back into his seat. Yes, the days were heavier now and no less troublesome if war paid a visit to the Mountain once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things.. Trima, Balin’s wife’s name was a Valkyrie’s name too - meaning fight. Being a member of the guard seemed reasonable as she died when the Dragon arrived.  
> I had the idea of Nori and Thorin as being sexual partners but of equal terms. However, it couldn’t have been equal what with Thorin being King under the Mountain or at least a King in Exile. That would put Nori on a different rung on the social ladder as well as being a descendant of a King’s Consort. I don’t want to use the term mistress for Nori but it amounts to the same thing. He had a turn with Thorin and was expected to step aside gracefully as any other King’s mistress has done in history once Bilbo jogged onto the scene.  
> I hadn't planned writing Oin this chapter but I couldn't resist.. I hate that he dies in Moria and I haven't changed that in this story.. He goes with Balin and it doesn't end well. So I want him to have as much fun as possible until that time.  
> **  
> I am working on the Rohirrim language that is based on an old Saxon/Icelandic variation since our trio meets up with an Eord on their way to *******. My question is… would it be better to have the language out in the script or put the regular English in and have the Rohirric at the bottom? I don’t want it to be a headache to read.  
> Any thoughts and opinions are helpful!


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Together we will take the road that leads into the West,  
> And far away will find a land where both our hearts may rest.
> 
> The Ent and the Ent wife song
> 
> People in this chapter  
> Fili, Ori, Fian and some Elves  
> Herja and the damn 'dams  
> Kili, Bain and Dorlad and a chance encounter

 

“Thanu Men.” Ori walked into the council room as Fili spun a top across the table for his son, Fian. “Master Dwalin and his company have been spotted near Red Spring yesterday. Carc suggests that he should be here by this afternoon.”

“About time the old man showed up. Ori, what have you been told about titles?” Fili snorted as his son laughed in his lap, trying to bounce out of the chair to catch it as it spun away from them. “You have known me since Ered Luin and all the adventures since then.”

Fili had insisted on having Fian with him today. Lately, he had felt that there wasn’t enough time for the simple pleasures, nor that he was with his family enough. He loved his boys as well as his wife, being King mattered little next that. Fili didn’t want to wake up one day with grown Dwarrows who were once Fian and Vian only to wonder when the time had passed.

“This is true, but you were not King in Ered Luin. As I recall, you were not King during the Quest. But you are Erebor now.” Ori smiled at little Fian at sent the top back to him from the other end of the table. “Every Dwarrow loves and respects you because you haven’t lost your ability to be one of us.”

Fili shook his head in disgust as Fian reached for his toy. “You are starting to sound like Balin now.”

“Thank Mahal!” Ori closed his eyes in benediction as if he had just been given the highest compliment.

The King and his head scribe shared a laugh as they passed the top aback and forth along the table for Fian’s enjoyment. The child laughed as the two Dwarrows talked of old times and things that were for the future. Ori advised he could take Fian on for lessons if the Fili and Sigrid agreed, to help sharpen the child’s Khudzul or lack there of.

Fili understood the need for his son’s education, wanted him to know everything in their world as well as be curious about what lay beyond their borders. His time as a guardian for merchants had allowed him to see so much of life and other people as well as pushing the limits of sanity. Many a patron lived only because Dwalin kept Fili from slaying the offender. It did teach him patience with others but just barely.

“Any news of Kili?” Any mention lately of his life before or the paths that lead the Company of Thorin Oakenshild to Erebor’s steps gave the son of Dis a jolt to ask about Kili and his quest. Fili had no memories of real life without his brother.

“Nothing since he left Rivendell some days ago.” Ori answered, anxious that he had nothing further to add. “They are in good health.”

Fian tugged the top from Ori’s grasp and began to scream ‘Mine!’ at the top of his lungs. Never a possessive child in the past, it was quite startling to hear him so vocal. Fili passed it off as a phase of childhood then stood to grab something ale off the sideboard. Giving Fian a cup of water, the King smiled as his son drank but the boy kept an eye on Ori as he clutched his toy tightly. Ori smiled at him, completely nonplussed.

Balin entered the chamber with Galar close behind, both Dwarrows wore tense expressions. Fili watched a few minutes waiting for them to speak. Fian waived at the chancellor and his assistant who smiled and waived in return. The smile didn’t reach their eyes and slid away from their expressions when they looked back to their King.

“What’s happened?” Trying and failing to keep the bark from his voice, Fili rubbed his son’s head to let him know all was well for him.

“Two envoys from King Thranduil. They await you at the Gates.” Balin knew never to allow Elves inside the Mountain without speaking with Fili first, treaty or not. Sometimes old enemies still carried old hates, especially immortals.

“I must prepare. Galar, please escort them to the Throne room. Take your time, be garrulous and point out things. Non warfare Improvements. Balin meet them at the Hall door. Ori, please take Fian back to Sigrid, advising her to stay where she is and have the six guards posted in the room. Two at the doors, two midway point and two at the dais steps. I want you in the back to observe but quietly.” Fili picked up Fian kissing his son on the cheek then hand him to Ori. “Make sure there are refreshments, Dorwinion Wine too.”

Fili hurried back to his chambers on the Royal Hall, smiling at some but nodding to others. If the Dwarrows he passed thought his behavior odd, it never showed on their faces. Their expressions said it was the usual occurrence to see the Thane running full tilt down passages and skidding around corners. The Elves might carry a longer stride but Dwarves were natural sprinters, capable of taking short distances faster than expected.

Fili rushed into the chambers he shared with Sigrid, bounding through the anteroom to toss his tunic as he went. He slid on a rug, cursing like a journeyman from the Blue Mountains as he grabbed hold of the wardrobe door to prevent his fall. Their communal closet was large, comprising of everyone’s garments. The ceremonial robes were in the front of the room but crowns, Sigrid kept at the back under a pile of Vian’s baby clothes. Yanking a steel blue tunic with silver stitching, Fili chucked clothes and boxes over his shoulder until he found the one that contained the Mitril coronet that belonged to his grandfather, Thrain. Seizing the dark blue robes of a rack, Erebor’s King raced back the way he came to beat Galar and the Elves he had in tow.

In theory, Fili realized as he tugged on his silvery crown and robes before he planted his bottom on the throne, he was King here. What he wore to greet messengers was his own affair, but the comment Zigal had made so many weeks ago still smarted about Fili being the Beggar King. Considering these particular envoys were from Thranduil and not his ‘loving’ cousin, Fili wanted to make every effort to seem detached and rather unconcerned, regal. Seeing Balin give him a smile, Fili knew he chosen correctly. In the future, they really must keep robes and a spare diadem or two in the council room.

The guards at the door pulled aside the heavy oak to allow the guests entry. Under terms of their treaty, communication was to be received as promptly as possible, no keeping the messengers imprisoned. Hospitality was offered and kind regards of one Monarch to another. It was to be witnessed by Balin and Galar who took position by the food table as they were the architects of this binding. The two emissaries walked inside with the light step of their race, Fili was stuck as always by the concern that they might actually be females. How Kili was able to find love with such an androgynous race baffled him completely.

The two Elves made note of the guards as Fili assumed they might. Six was a respectable number, more would suggest he was afraid of them while less or none would be foolish. It was the first official visit since terms had been agreed between Thranduil and himself in Dale, so caution was prudent. There had been no attacks from the Greenwood folk but time eroded all things even treaties and especially honor. A complacent King could find a knife in his throat as he sat his bottom on a cushioned chair.

The Throne Room was deserted save for his Dwarrows and advisors and would remain thus until the envoys left. Striplings had been already laying out food and drink at a side bar to the King’s left. The only noise bouncing in the rafters far above were the loud stomp of Dwarven feet upon the stone as a guard escorted the Elves forward. Nothing marked the passage of the Woodland people in his hall, not even the bare whisper of metal weapons in their scabbards.

The arrivals were dressed for travel, brown boots and fitted leather britches under muted hazel cloaks. A delightful camouflage that could fool a Man of weak sight but never a Dwarf. Their quivers were not as full as Fili might have assumed and never as full as Kili would carry. The hems of their cloaks were browned as if they had dragged through the mire at some point but scraped free of the clinging weight. Closer inspection revealed stains at the bottom of their boots as well. They had not washed before reaching the mountain, coming straight in without thought or care for their appearance. Unusual that a fastidious Elf would care so little or that their quivers be lighter than hunting partners would have.

Bowing their heads in respect only, one walked ahead of his companion. “Greetings to the King under the Mountain from Thranduil King of the Woodland Realm.”

Fili nodded to show he heard the Elf but said nothing at first taking their measure. They were Silvans with hair of fall toned leaves and shorter than normal statue. With brown and blond mixed together in their braids and similar features, Fili could almost guess they were of some relation. It had taken some reading to learn the difference in their clans because truly Thorin had not cared one way or the other. An Elf was a sprite, a tree shagger, of no use to any Dwarf. But now the supposed good will and treaties to the same left many at odd ends on how to treat what was once a loathed enemy. Sindarin, Noldorin, Silvan, the King’s head pounded just from the names….

“We are honored to receive envoys of the Elvenking. Please, take your ease and refresh yourselves.” Indicting to the food on the side of their guests, the Dwarven King watched the Silvan’s turn to each other then back to stare at him. Fili knew from the looks on their faces that the Elves would not eat nor drink here.

“I am Celebeth of the Forest Guard. My King tasked me with the message of importance for King Fili.” Again with the proper nod, to which Fili acknowledged. One more nod, and the King under the Mountain would start snoring. “Information about the Riverfolk have come into my King from the Lady of the Golden Wood.”

Will he just spit it out? Fili thought with little grace. He decided that being active in the conversation might just hurry it along. “The Lady of the Golden Wood is wondrous fair, I have been told. It is despairing too that many of our race have not gazed upon her exquisiteness.” Seeing the startled looks from the Silvan pair, Fili grinned as he nettled them. “What? Think you not that a Dwarf can recognize beauty?”

“No..No, my lord.. I” The Elf stumbled in his words, shocked a bit at Fili’s blunt speech.

“Pray continue, Celebeth.” The Dwarven King’s tone was bored as he laid a hand on his axe handle. Hmmm, Fili thought, I might need to sharpen this later.

Righting himself with a shake, the Elven messenger began again much to the annoyance of his companion. “When the Lady of Light helped destroy Dol Guldor, the Spider nest was destroyed but now we believe that there might have been another nest closer to the East Bight. It would be spawning as the eggs would be mature enough in the passage of so many years.”

“We have reports of dead Spiders along the Lake side.” The Elves agreed with Fili as he continued. “What of the Riverfolk?”

“Lord Celeborn believes they seek to arm themselves against the Spiders, nothing more. But he and King Thranduil both think it strange that they come to Erebor instead of their closer neighbors.” There was confusion on both their faces at these words, something that the council had found odd as well.

“Does the ElvenKing require assistance in dealing with the nest?” Fili asked with a smile. Knowing the prickly sprite’s pride, he would be fair to broiling at the thought of Dwarven help.

“Not at this time, King Fili.” The Elves were obviously finished, both giving a fake bow for such rigid spines.

The King stood and began to heft his axe when Celebeth’s companion took a step forward in the direction of the Throne. Both guards at the base of the dais slammed their spears towards the Elf male, pulling their shield close in attack formation.

“King Fili. If I may?” The Elf’s voice reverberated in the large room, making Balin and Galar uneasy. Both Dwarrows walked to the Throne at an agitated clip.

Fili wouldn’t normally allow this bold Elf close to his Dwarrows, truly it would not matter. If there was malice in his intentions, distance mattered little for the agile creatures of Iluvatar. Shouldering his doubled headed axe, the King under the Mountain left his throne to stop at the last step to face the Elf.

“Declare yourself.”

“It has come to my King that one who was our captain, no longer resides in the Lonely Mountain.” He was calm and cool, this Silvan of the Greenwood. He had an air of command, and Fili realized too late that this one was in charge.

“Let us speak plainly, you and I.” Fili growled, his hand tightening on the axe handle. The Silvan marked the reaction, Fili noticed that he marked it.

The King stood not but handful of feet between them, the Elf’s mouth thinned into a line of displeasure. “She was banished in absentia, so her name is refused to us. A ….companion to Prince Kili.”

Fili’s eyes flickered to Balin to the side who shook his head slightly. The pause in the Elf’s request was telling, obviously they called Tauriel something other than his brother’s ‘companion’ in Mirkwood, if they spoke of her at all. “If she was banished, your previous captain has no ties to the Woodland realm. So, I do not feel compelled to discuss her with you. As to my brother, I am sure the King’s Justice would feel offended for his _companion_ ’s sake. I know I do.”

The Silvans bristled at his tone, almost shaking with their anger and trying to hide it from him. It rankled him that that Tauriel’s race could talk about his brother’s savior in less than a favorable light. These fair folk ghosted through their realm, caring not for the world beyond their trees. They had sat aside with a dragon at their door for longer than was wise, barely acknowledging Lake Town in between.

Tauriel had not had stood aside, didn’t sit complacently in the Cavern palace of Thranduil. The Elf with the blazing hair had been different from her kin, daring to love a son of Durin and fight for his life. She helped save Bard’s children when Smaug attacked, helping them all to shore when the heavier Dwarrows might have failed. She had faced down her prince with Kili beside her, refusing to be parted when Legolas called her to leave him. If Tauriel of Mirkwood had done nothing else but love his brother with such reverent devotion, Fili would still owe her much until Mahal called him to sit in the Halls of Waiting.

These autumn immortals were not like their Sindarin overlords, closer to nature and just as volatile. Their breaking from the Valar had reversed their polarity, leaving the Silvans to evolve where others remained static, frozen. Yet the Wood Elves tried again and again for that placid calm that higher Elves wore like a second skin. They didn’t understand the purpose of a quiet nature, moving in small degrees when trying to appear still. Imitation is a sincere form of flattery but not when the original is a cold individual to leave frigid copies in his wake. Tauriel had been the noticeable exception, leading with her warm heart and letting her body follow. Learn yourselves, boyos, Fili thought as he dismissed the Silvans to go back to Thranduil, learn from Tauriel’s example to be who you are before it is too late.

 

**********

Useless females. Large lumps of flesh better served at tinkering than being a Dwarrowdam under the Mountain. Feckless idiots that can’t see the problem at hand.

Mean and vicious thoughts swirled and tumbled in Herja’s mind as she stared at the three ladies before her, seated and talking as if their lives were dependent upon the strides that Herja was undertaking. A placid smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes was the only thing holding her venom at bay. They knew not of the future, nor the direction their lives should take if their leader was jailed indefinitely. The ignorant chits were little better than farm animals, harnessed to ideals that were akin to brainwashing.

It was Herja who understood a Dwarrowdam’s true purpose in life. She and she alone, knew that they were divine examples of Mahal’s creation. They were a strong race, they would endure but it was only if the Dwarrowdams came together as a united front. There were few females among the Khazad, so it was only right that they be in charge. They were the mothers of the race, ready to lead the males into Erebor’s golden age.

Skogul had known this during her tenure as Queen under the Mountain. She had known that the Dwarrows were weak, easily lead creatures. If tickling their fancy kept them docile, a slave force of females could be arranged. According to Herja’s Grandmother, Skogul had been in communication with merchants to bring Halfling women to the Mountain for such a purpose. If a Dwarrow preferred a wet female to another dry male, the Halfling slaves would fill that role. Unfortunately, Smaug changed that possible future, altering the perfect life’s plan as a consequence.

Change had come whether they had will it or no. But the present life she was leading was intolerable, the shaving was intolerable. The situation Herja found herself was not to be suffered. Unable to leave her quarters, never knowing the days but having to mark time by the occurrence of meals? Herja was allow no company save the few ‘dams that could be smuggled into her rooms by sympathetic guards. Nevermind that she had struck at the woman first, that fishslut was not a true Queen! What right did she have to lay hands upon a Dwarrowdam!? Sigrid of Dale was not a Khazad of any tribe, so why should she be allowed the same rights as the ‘dams?! Better that she slink back to the lake with her mongrels to lay in the gutters with whatever Man can pay her price.

Lady Goll was a regular visitor to her now, her confidant but she had no real ability to sniff out the realms secrets. She had taken the place of Lady Thrud whose visits had become erratic at best. Goll was no closer to getting Herja into Fili’s audience and the wait was beginning to rankle. While both ‘dams were there today, along with the young Lady Svipul, they sat together discussing things in a quiet tone as they embroidered squares of washed linen. The simpering smiles from Goll were sugary, making Herja want to alternately strangle and gag up her meal.

Svipul had lately come to the mountain during the spring caravan from the Ironfist people. Her grandmother had been one of that tribe, taking her family home after the Desolation. She was sweet tempered and sympathetic to their cause, sitting in from time to time. Ironfists had not been the most amiable to Longbeards after the loss of Mount Gundabad so many ages ago, but they married from time to time if a true paring was found. Svipul wasn’t the highest blood but it was good enough for Herja’s purposes.

“Thrud, where is Eir today?” Herja’s voice bore fangs at the blond across the room as she snaked towards her. Normally the tone would have Thrud either cowering or fighting, today it was neither.

“I have not seen her this week. The Lord Chancellor has her very busy.” Thrud didn’t look up as she twisted her thread to make a complicated knot. She wasn’t aware of the danger she was in.

“Doing what? Pray tell.”

“No idea.”

Thrud gave a disinterested shrug, unconcerned at the business of the realm and uncaring of the Dwarrowdam lot in general. Idiot! Herja snatched the cloth away from the blond quickly then slapped Thrud hard across the face with the open right hand. The blond gasped and shrunk back from the strike to lay a hand on her face were the skin above her beard began to glow.

“Find out! Look at me!” Herja screamed, snatching her kerchief away to reveal the black tight curls atop her head. “I have been abused by the Throne then jailed for standing up against that Laketown trollop! If you do not understand that Eir is now in possession of information vital me as a scribe to the chancellor, then you are completely useless to me!”

Thrud’s gaze locked on to Herja, steely with anger as she rose from her chair. The ‘dam was taller than Herja, a fact that had escaped the disgraced female until this moment. Lady Thrud’s nostrils flared as she bared her teeth at the challenge. For a moment, Herja felt fear, a deep well in her center that had once housed her stomach as it plummeted to her shoes.

“I care not for your problems, Herja. You are in disgrace, jailed here as you have said and shaved like a common Dwarrow with a yellow back. As for the Lady Eir, that mess is of your own making. Fix it yourself if you have the time to leave your prison.” Turning to leave with a sweep of her lavender skirts, Thrud called over her shoulder. “If you raise a hand to me again, I will raise my axe for the insult and take your arm as compensation not your braids or lack of them.”

Storming from the room, Herja hissed at the blond’s retreating back. Swinging back to the ladies still seated, she replaced her kerchief atop her head at Svipul’s look of horror. “Goll, go and find out what Eir is doing. We need every bit of intelligence on what is happening.”

Goll ran out of the room as if Orcs were chasing her with bloody eyes and depravity in mind. Herja sighed deep as she took a seat, spent from the force of her anger. “It’s a terrible thing to love your country, Svipul. We must all bear hardships if we are to have what is rightfully ours. It’s a shame that the Dwarrowdams here have no vision of what might be.”

*****************

An age is called Dark, not because the light fails to shine, but because people refuse to see it. The light shining in their world was fleeting for the darkness was rising again despite its loss six years ago. The forces that moved and shaped the world of Arda had no interest in the back hamlet five days hard ride from Rivendell. The people slogged along in life, dying here as they lived. Unnoticed, undervalued for their contributions to the travelers that passed them by.

The menial existence wasn’t unknown to him, there had been harsh years in Ered Luin. This was different than his home far to the west with its cheery fires and happy songs. The spirit of the village felt hollow, carved out even as the lean winter months yawned before them. There might not be enough food for the cruelest season but the inhabitants seemed removed from it, like they had already laid down their will to fight against their fate.

Was this what Dorlad had meant when he said they were deceived? These people bore their lives but showed no joy. The block homes were well thatched yet, felt old and tired. Dreary. Children labored at their parents’ sides, gathering wood or tending to their livestock as the trio rode on. How could children lead such a muffled existence with no laughter or joy. Their dull expressions were a copy of their parents nearby. There was more cheer to be found in a graveyard than here, Kili thought at the particularly glum look of a young Man.

The Tavern was just ahead, on the other end of the village. Dorlad was an old friend of the owner and they would sleep inside before they took the road south passed Isenguard. Old was a companion term in the Ranger’s thoughts since he was a handful of years older than Kili’s own eighty three. Time also had a different meaning to them as well, children were just that until they reach their late thirties. It had taken an indulgence for Dorlad’s sister to wed at her twenties since she was a considered much too young.

The trio stopped before the tavern as Dorlad walked inside. Kili took the Man’s horse to wait until they were able to unload their mounts. He was hesitant to leave so much gold upon the ponies in so poor an area. Thinking that the villagers were thieves did them no justice, but caution in a deprived place was practical if it was discreet. Their lives might be helped by the cattle and sheep the Erebor gold would bring, though for only a short while if raiders or Orcs were the reason for barren conditions.

Bain shrugged as he dismounted Isen. The dark red chestnut carried a dull coat thanks to the heavy mists this morning. Mud caked his legs passed the cannon bone and on Daisy and Warg up to the knees. There had been rain in the night to congeal the dirt into boot sucking sludge with the right constancy to break legs of the unwary. The ponies were want of a rest themselves after time spent in the lavish Elven stables. Kili feared Warg would exact revenge for forcing him to leave the warm hay and spacious comfort.

Dorlad returned with a sausage on a stick, laughing at someone over his shoulder as he exited the building. “We can take the horses around back. Pelegond owns the place and he will allow us to stable here.”

Taking the reins, the ranger walked around the side of the building to the back side. Several Men of the village stopped to stare at their strange precession, looking over each of them. Dorlad was jovial in his comments, waving to a few who waived back before resuming their own business. Kili was used to the attention in Eriandor since the Dwarven race were more condensed in the Blue Mountains. In Erebor, a Man or Elf would be thought strange in the Halls and remarked upon to the nearest guard.

The stable was well fortified but Kili could see the occasional bent in the wood that might have been from an axe or sword.   Tracing a finger over the cut, Kili turned to the Dunedain. “What goes on here? There are people but it seems so lifeless.”

There were naught but ten stalls, three already occupied. A milk cow, an ancient mare with her goat companion, and a sparing of sheep took the stalls at the end. Several stacks of decent hay piled high to the first rafter blocked the other end from them to pair with short metal grain bins on either side. An orange yellow cat streaked under the mare’s hooves to startle the goat.

“Goblin men have been a plague in last years. With an Orc pack at very rare times. The Dunedain are dwindling, spending their long lives as if it were something to be suffered rather than celebrated. In another age, the Witch King devoured their essence and broke their will. But not all feel such a despair.” Dorlad led his pony into a stall. “Kili, put your mount in that one so that Warg might protect your …things tonight.”

Looking in the stall first, straw had been laid but had a musty smell to it. At the back, a wood box with a metal lock covered the width of the stall. Warg could mill around in the stall and attack any who came too near. Unless a bride was offered. If carrots or apples or Mahal forbid sugar lumps were offered to the conniving beast, the pony would stand aside for an Orc!

“I might bed down in a stall tonight.” Kili advised as he began to off load the animals. “No sense in the animals having all the fun.”

Placing the heavier sacks of treasure and Tauriel’s gifts at the bottom, Kili pilled their tack atop the canvas covered possessions. He tucked his quivers and bow under as well, taking with him the double headed axe and _Orcrist_ as a backup. Dwarves were thought to be a suspicious lot, never trusting or having faith in much save the iron in his hand and the money in his pocket. Going so armed into an unknown tavern would not be thought amiss, while an archer Dwarf might be remembered. Bows were not the favored weapon of his people.

They went inside the tavern through the backdoor, walking into a few men drunkenly bawling at the hearth about home and good beer. The patrons and assorted folk marked them little and commented none at their entrance. Kili had not been in a tavern in quite some time and the last memory of a visit was not a pleasant one. Bain at his side vibrated with excited energy since Bard had kept his only son from partaking in spirited libations with older company.

People mixed and flowed in the room, making for a decent crowd. The tavern did good business despite the hour of the day. Some locals scarfed in a corner table by the roaring fire, trying to keep warm before they went back to their work. Two travelers still in their cloaks, huddled over their pints as if liquid within would warm them throughout. But it was a smaller figure that caught Kili’s attention as they rounded the bar. A Dwarf, just as out of place amongst this lot as Kili.

The Dwarrow was a Stiffbeard, a hard bitten branch of Dwarf that lived many many leagues north from here. A bleak terrain were it was so cold their beards were stiff hence the name. A hard country makes for a hard Dwarf. This one had lived so long there was more gray than white in his numerous braids and they were plentiful. Braids for family, braids for victory in battles long past. Thorn knot plaits adorned his beard in conjunction with the other white haired manufactures. The central plait in his chin was a warrior’s construction, signifying it was his primary trade. Kili had known many of that class in his time, grew up with them but none had been a Stiffbeard.

Two braids at the back of his crown caught Kili’s attention almost from the start. A five lock creation with dark iron beads and steel clasps at the bottom to hold them in place. The clasps themselves held a design but Kili was too far to make out the minuscule artistry with any confidence though the rune could be of Dain’s line. This Dwarf had fought along side the Iron Court, was counted a Friend to them.

There was a shadow upon this Dwarf’s soul or maybe his soul was the shadow. Since both were or could be sheer weightless things, it was hard to determine if it was worth the bother of expulsion. Long exposure to death and loss might have such affect upon a Dwarrow. The children of Mahal were not immune to pain of loss be they companions, family or just the simple act of killing a foe. No one takes a life and walks away unscathed. Kili wondered now what the Lord of Rivendell saw in him during his stay in Imladris.

The Stiffbeard turned away from his companion to allow his gaze to arrow at Kili, taking note of his lack of hair and beard. His attention fixed pointedly on _Orcrist_ at his side as well at the curved axe in his hand. Bain and Dorlad paid attention as well, staring at the Dwarf and his companions. The Stiffbeard’s eyes flickered once to the Men behind him then he folded a hand over his opposite fist and bowed his head. Kili merely nodded, acknowledging the other’s signal of condolences to his loss. Had he been weaponless or without Dorlad and Bain no doubt the Dwarf would have spat upon him or pissed on his leg thinking he was shameful. No Dwarf shears themselves unless in grief or humiliation.

Dorlad pointed to a corner table that was empty as he set off to bar top to converse with someone he knew. The Stiffbeard continued to watch them until they took a seat in the corner. A dourly barmaid or more to say a barstrumpet for she advised them what food was available as well as her other ‘services’ to Bain. Kili checked his humor as Bain stammered his refusal, it was only after she left that the Prince of Dale realized that the same had not been offered to the Dwarf beside him.

“Why did she not offer to you?” Bain asked with flaming embarrassment.

“I’m a Dwarf.” Kili told him, laying a finger beside his elongated nose. “She would probably mount a Halfling before opening her thighs for me.”

Bain persisted, still not understanding the perception on this side of the Misty Mountains. “There are women in Dale I have heard who take Dwarf lovers? Why is it different here?”

Kili’s bushy eyebrows shot up his brow in surprise. “I know not what you speak of in Dale. It might be that since Dwarves caused the destruction of Lake Town but aided the recovery of Dale, it makes no difference.” Taking a drink of the ale the barstrumpet placed before him, Kili waited until she left to finish. “Here in Eriador, the difference is marked and there are lines that are not to be crossed.”

The explanation didn’t sit well with the young prince, not understanding the attitudes that were vastly different from what he knew at home. True, Dale was much more welcoming in their interactions with Dwarrows and likewise the Durin’s Folk was more open with them. Kili knew if the people at home were hostile to him, it was because of him personally or fear of his reputation than being a Dwarrow.

Kili noticed the Dwarf leave his friends to walk towards him. He skated around a lout who leaned a little too close as the shorter individual walked passed. The Dwarf slammed his fist into the Man’s hip before grabbing his hand with a twist. Holding up the offending hand, a Dwarven dagger glinted in the light. A pickpocket. An idiot who dared to rob a Dwarf. The Stiffbeard punched the Man in his stones, snatching his dagger back to continue towards Kili and Bain.

“I believe I need…. require the necessary.” Bain murmured as he set off for the front door.

The Dwarf bowed his head in greeting. “Laulumistaja, son of Surmataja, Dwarrow of Thurlin’s folk.”

“Surmataja is a name well known. Khuzd Belkul. Your name has been spoken in our drinking halls!” Kili advised with a smile, standing to bow a head in return. “I am Kili, son of Vali, who known to Thurlin’s folk as Barukasi son of Bavor.”

The names of his father and his father’s father set the Dwarf back a little. Lauluminstraja bowed his head just the same at the acknowledgement of his father, Surmataja and his deeds as a dragonslayer years before Bard Bowman’s father was ever born. Dwarves of any folk live long lives and share the tails of their ancestors so as not to be forgotten. Great deeds like dragonslaying are always the best.

The gambeson the other Dwarf wore was of good quality but of a design that Kili was not familiar. The braided padding at the shoulders, so critical for a Dwarf fighting a taller opponent, was interlaced with iron shanks. The arm movement looked impressive if the way the Surmataja hefted his full tankard.

“Your gambeson is unusual but the look is sound. Where might you have acquired it?” Kili’s curiosity burned for where this Dwarf might have travelled and who he might have seen.

“Fancy thing. I was wounded in Gondor of late, my own wears were lost. A lass in the healing halls at Minas Tirith sent off a runner to the master armorer. No idea of what it took to convince him but he had this waiting for me when I left.” The Stiffbeard shrugged as he gulped his ale. “Would take no money for it, said it was a favor for the lass. She would not take the money either, said she had a soft spot for Dwarves.”

Kili smiled at his companion, taking a healthy quaff of his tankard. “I hear lasses enjoy good tales. You must have spun her a few.”

The Stiffbeard leaned back in his chair. “Not at all. But she was a sweet thing and no mistake. No often the big folk treat us with kindness. I am home for Kibil-Tarag now. I miss the song of the Rekikoirat.”

They drank for a time. Mulling their thoughts as the ale mellowed their spirit and warmed their belly. Bain reappeared to take his ale to the bar and sit with Dorlad and his friends for a game of dice. The sun was still high out of doors with more patrons coming inside for a tankard.

“So what brings a Longbeard son of Vali Barukasi so far from his halls?” Laulumistaja had a casual air but like any Dwarrow in the mines, he was nosy.

“I seek a fire haired Elf woman. Seen you any on your travels?” Kili gave him a grave look. The Stiffbeards were known to trade with the Ice Elves and others of the far north but that didn’t mean they were liked.

The Dwarf leaned forward in his seat, tugging on his thorn spiked braids. “None that I can recall. Gondor has a high fondness for the fair folk. If a fire haired Elf was in residence in Gondor, any and all would pilgrimage to see her. The peoples to the far west in Dol Amroth are close to Elf blood themselves. Might seek you there.”

Kili smiled again and thanked the Dwarf by ordering another round. Any information was good, now he learned that any Gondorian would have seen her and told tales. “My companion would wish for Gondor. His sister is there. Would be cruel to be close and not visit.”

“Happy is measuring your life against the options and not wanting to change it. It's getting the best of a series of bargains, bad or otherwise.” The white blond Dwarf told him with a grunt before he took a gulp of his ale.

“You are a Blacklock, Laulumistaja son of Surmataja for all your Stiffbeard coloring. “ Kili told the Dwarf with a jovial smile. It was returned in a slight measure of hesitancy but the Dwarrow knew him and knew Kili’s worth in the fabric of their world.

They parted on good terms, with sayings of an appropriate nature. It was doubtful they were meet again in this life with each Dwarrow on different path. The Halls of Waiting would welcome one such as the Stiffbeard, for his valor and strength were mighty. Laulumistaja son of Surmataja was going home to die, Kili realized as the Dwarf walked out of the Tavern. The song of his ancestors drew him back to find his rest in his aged years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A friend sent me a youtube clip of the shore scene from BOFTA so there is a flash back scene coming that references the above where Tauriel doesn’t leave Kili but Legolas and goes to the Mountain.  
> I didn’t have them knocking heads because to me slamming your head no matter the density with someone you don’t know seemed off..You are momentarily vulnerable before an unknown and I never thought Dwarves were that dumb.  
> Yes, the nurse in the healing halls in Gondor was Tilda.. I didn't want to be heavy handed with it but say that she still remembers Dwarves with fondness and would help them where others might not..
> 
> translations  
> Khuzd Belkul – khuzdul means mighty dwarf  
> Kibil Tarag means Silver Horn and is the delf of the Stiffbeards.. the descriptions I have read make them sound like Eskimos.  
> Rekikoirat – Khuzdul for sled dogs.. like huskies or malamutes probably bigger though  
> Laulumistaja – means song maker in Khuzdul  
> Surmataja was a dragon slayer  
> Barukasi – means axe hand. I have Fili/Kili’s father a second name rather like, Oakenshield, Ironfoot or Stonehelm.  
> Celebeth – means silver word.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented, subscribed and kudo'd.. one more chapter then the first part of the reunion between Kili and Tauriel.. I swear I didn't mean for it take so long but I started really loving the side stories and they just got away from me as a result.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olrun and Dwalin arrive at Erebor, the presentation to the Thane and Athane

Olrun’s sat at the base of the mountain feeling both small and excited. The party had seen the jutting edifice for days, yet standing at its roots was a revelation. Massive peaks chipped with ice and mica to sparkle as the tip speared into the afternoon sun. Wide at its base, it grew tall to command everything in its view. She had always heard from others that only the rocks live forever, never a mountain.  Time and the elements will gnaw it down to its bones leaving sand to bleed back into the earth that spawn such a titanic structure. But all of that claptrap spoken by those who dwell in their mole hills, content with their mean comforts. Such naysayers had never set eyes upon the Lonely Mountain.

Fierce Dwarves carved from the rock held axes at their sides, ready to defend their kingdom. Beautiful craftsmanship, Olrun thought as she let the reins slip from her fingers to gaze in reverence at what they had accomplished here. A wide causeway gentled the steep incline, allowing for carts and other conveyances entry into the Mountain proper. So large was the Delf that they had market halls below for merchants to come on certain days. The city of Dale to the south had market days as well but never in conflict with Erebor. The two kingdoms worked in concert, achieving a level of prosperity that Ironfoot could never fathom.

Dain for all of his fine halls in the Iron Hills had nothing so magnificent as this. The open stalls at the entrance to his court and in the foyer just beyond the Boar gate were the only concession the son of Nain would make to trading with others. It look the breath of a moment for Olrun to see that the Ironfoot was jealous of his neighbors and all that they possessed. But how had the Dwarves left it to that Dragon for so long? Why had they not stalked the Drake into its lair and taken back what Dwarven sweat had yielded? Olrun almost giggled to herself at the thought that she owed her current good fortune to Thorin Oakenshield and his mad plan for reclamation. Speaking it aloud would reveal the absurdity of it, and she preferred the dream of what was to come.

A strout Dwarrowdam with intricate braids stood at the Great Gates dressed in deep blues, quite a part from the crowds of Dwarves. Her hands were on her hips as she studied their progress, taking in every detail. She wore no crown upon her brow, yet the air of command and the intricate braids at her jaw and temples were royal creations. This could be none other than Princess Dis daughter of Thrain, mother to the King under the Mountain. That she choose to greet them at their arrival was a positive expression of welcome, more than Olrun had hoped to see.

Dwalin lumbered from his pony to bow his head at the Princess’ approach. She was taller than Olrun, many of Durin’s folk breed bigger Dwarves than were seen in other tribes. The lady had not been exempted, her youngest was rumored to be the size of a small Man. The Princess’ husband had been a Stiffbeard, leaner but with matchless strength of hardier stock. There was silvery threads in her temple braids mixing with the black that was darker than a raven’s wing. Dis was a handsome Dwarrowdam, with the shrewd eagle look to match her title.

Dwalin, himself, stood higher than any in their company, even the Stonehelm. She had a chance to gauge the difference in the two Dwarrows last evening before her love had stalked off to the camp. The son of Dain had just seemed less in Dwalin’s shadow. Yet ever since, Thorin had been sticking close, going so far to ride at her side and nudge Dwalin away. The sneering anger from the tattooed Dwarf had made her smile but the animosity in their company was worrying her family. Her near sister, Verdandi, expressed doubts on this venture when before she had been its strongest supporter. What would happen now that they had arrived?

Olrun dismounted, flicking her fingers to those behind her urging them to do the same. More than one groaned as they reached the ground, a long journey ended at last. Vigdis and Skuld both looked around with mixed reactions of awe, fear and wonder. The younger girl sided closer to her warrior cousin when the guards at the Gate cheered the arrival of their captain. Olrun noticed that Dis acknowledged then dismissed the son of Fundin, sweeping by without further comment. Angry undercurrents swirled around the pair if the tightening of the Princess’ lips was any indication.

Olrun bowed as the Dwarrowdam approached. “Princess Dis.”

“Lady Olrun, daughter of Tarag I presume? Welcome to Erebor.” Strong hands grasped the Boardbeam ‘dams arms to raise her back to eye level. Clear blue eyes searched her face as the Princess’ face split in a grin.

“Thank you so much, madam. We are most happy to be here.” Olrun turned back to her family for introductions. “My brother Olgr and his wife, Verdandi. Their daughter, Vigdis. And Lady Skuld, daughter of Linnar of the Broadbeams.”

The men who had traveled with them from the Iron Hills, Bifur, Nori and the others walked by leading their mounts and pack animals. Thorin Stonehelm walked behind them with his down, still playing the part of the guard Farli. The Princess shook by Olgr’s hand, then Verdandi’s moving along their line to offer personal greetings. She remarked upon Vigdis’ profession as she rubbed the Boar’s snout as it sniffed her. Skuld was her jovial self, thanking the King’s Mother for her invitation also relaying her excitement in the visit. Aside from journeying from Linnar’s hall to the Iron Court and back, Skuld had been very sheltered. This was the farthest any of them had ever been from home.

“I have arranged for you to have rooms in the Residence hall off the Promenade. It will allow you to reach everything faster until you learn your way.” The Princess’ voice dropped to a conspiring whisper. “That is of course, unless you find a Dwarrow that strikes you fair?”

Olrun blushed as Dis looked at Dwalin as he slammed his head against a fellow Dwarf in greeting. The Broadbeam ‘dam felt it necessary to apprise the Princess on their developments. “Nothing is settled, my lady. I know in your letters that you thought he pined for me… but..”

“Not here, all eyes and ears are attached to tongues. I will have someone attend to your Boars.” The Princess called to a guard to open the doors for the stables but Verdandi walked to her with bow.

“Princess Dis?” The King’s mother moved to them again indicating for Olrun’s near sister to speak. “Princess, the Boars have been travelling for some weeks now and to a new place. We will need to get them settled and arrange care ourselves. The sounder will not trust your people for they are unknowns.”

The Princess looked surprised but not affronted. The last thing any of them wanted was frightened _Abkarul Hakhd_ terrorizing the stables. Shrugging with a smile, the Princess led the way to the stables once the guard opened the door to the lower level. The descent comprised of stone tiers, built for ponies and horses in mind as the ceiling was easily fifteen foot high. Security had been at the forefront as well with cutting switchbacks built almost like a maze. Torches lined high on the walls so that those in the tunnel could see their feet and not injure themselves. The corridor was wide enough as they continued in single file deeper towards the Stable hall. Looking down, Olrun could see scrapings on the floor then looked up to see squared openings, blacker than the surrounding rock.

“It’s to seal this particular section.” A stripling behind her spoke as Olrun looked over her shoulder in confusion. “Our Kingdom doors will seal again in case of another attack. But if there is a traitor, and an enemy comes this way. We can collapse the tunnel by dropping rock and sand through chutes in the ceiling.”

Olrun thanked the Dwarrow for explaining but turned to keep going down into the bowels of rock. Like any Dwarf, she felt a sense of peace within the stone. Born they were from it and back they would sit in the Halls Awaiting until the end of times. Running a hand over the surface, she smiled to herself as if to greet the Delf that hopefully would be her new home.

The last curve yawned wide as they reached the stables, opening into bustling activity. A large cavern twice the size of the Iron Courts entrance hall and twice as high greeted her and taking her breath at the bustling expanse. Striplings ran hither and yon carrying buckets from taps set in the wall for water. The interior piping must have been laid then masoned after for such precision to be accomplished. Simply drilling into the walls and sticking a pipe willy nilly would never have worked, creating problems were the system they employed was so much easier. Even the floor sloped in a small degrees for drainage to a hidden cistern.

There were several open stalls containing ten or more ponies, milling around on a mixture of sand and straw in comfort. Striplings with their Dwarf masters meandered through the herds, checking the animals and brushing them down. Once or twice she spied a smile on a young Dwarrow’s face as he fed something to a pony, giving the animal an affectionate pat. Others were leading animals up a chute not far from where the new arrivals entered, disappearing into up into the rock. Obviously a main exit for the animals to reach the pasturelands but only open from the inside. A secret exit, Olrun assumed for if they could collapse the tunnel coming down they would seal any other door leading out.

The stalls themselves were made of worked stone with scraped toughs for water and feed. To the far left of the large room, individual wood posts for smaller eight by ten foot stalls had been erected. Olrun could only assume were for stallions to keep them separate from mares. With so many active Dwarves, striplings and animals, furnaces were completely unnecessary. The level of planning and execution involved here was impressive.

The support pillars for the ceiling had been pressed into service with as well, no space was wasted. Thick wooden pegs stuck at regular intervals held saddles, bridles, and load bearing harnesses. Feed bags, blankets or unused buckets hung from others as the group walked by the open stalls. They had rode by the eastern slopes of the mountain with acres of empty snow covered corrals and a pastures available for these animals.

Many stopped to stare at their grouping, a few even dared to point at them. The Boars trotted behind their riders in a maintained file with no visible sign of aggression to the attention they were garnering as new arrivals but also as an oddity. A few swung their heads about to take it all in, giving grunts and snorts at some who came close. There was no swine here that Olrun could see, only ponies and goats with the occasional horse and cow. The usual smells of hay, straw and feed mixing with animal were stronger than offending odors of waste and unwashed. Verdandi would be happy with this, Olrun thought, taking it as a sign that the animals were well cared for here. It boded well for the any treatment the Iron Hills contingent would receive.

“Vigg was very specific on boar care when he was here last. We have arranged this paddock for them.” The princess slowed her pace to Olrun’s, but spoke loudly for the rest to hear over the din. “I know how precious they are to you, so every precaution has been taken.”

They arrived at the last open stall to the right, built with low timbers and rock joints. Leather and canvas had been stitched together to form wide tarps with rope handles at the corners for lifting. They had been laid on top of the stone to hold a mixture of both sand and woodchips for the waste material and make it easier to clean their paddock. The tarps had been placed before not only at the watering trough but at the far back of the enclosure since the boars preferred never to be close to their waste. Sacks with straw had been placed at the midway point for them to bed down. They would rather have woven blankets but the sacks were better for the time being due to the cold.

Dis walked inside the enclosure to look into the troughs as she passed them. Crinkling her nose, she waved her hand in the air, a clear signal to three young Dwarves who ran forward. They were not of their maturity if their sparse beard was any indication.

“These three striplings will be in charge of their overall cleaning and care. I understand that the animals will need to be released several times daily even in the weather for exercise and other things. These boyos will help with that.” Dis ruffled the hair of one and hugged another. The affection that flowed between them was so very touching.

Verdandi walked up to Olrun looking over the large arena to grin before giving a long sigh. Slapping her near sister on the arm in happiness, Olgr’s wife bowed her head and gave thanks to the Princess with a warm smile. Taking the reins, she and her daughter, Vigdis lead the boars and sows inside and to get them acclimated to their surroundings.   Their snouts went down immediately, sniffing in discovery as they shuffled over the rock floor. Verdandi had them in hand, giving the sounder commands for what was where.

Olrun was struck by the Princess in a fundamental way and all of it positive. The level of planning on her end at the Iron court had been considerable with no small amount of subterfuge. Vigg had to be wary in transporting their clothes, valuables as other things they had not wanted to leave behind but also making contact with the Princess and ensure they would be welcome here. The Princess had taken the situation entirely upon herself, getting their possessions, finding rooms so that they were grouped together, making space in the stables for the Boars and their care. The long months of intensity and hushed preparation had reached its zenith, releasing Olrun’s tears of joy. It had finally happened, and she was free!

Taking her mount in as well, the Iron Court ‘dam noticed Thorin Stonehelm walking his own boar in trying sidle close to her once more. Her sow cuffed, picking up on her mistress’ mood as they stopped along the rail. It might have been tolerable on the journey but now she needed to begin a separation process to extradite herself from Dain’s son else she would be back at the Iron Hills in a wink.

“My princess, we have brought two of the Iron Hills Dwarrows with us to assist in the sounder’s care. They will need to sleep here tonight at least so that a familiar form will be calming to the animals.” Dis nodded sending a runner to the stable master to keep him informed.

The Stonehelm shot her a look of venom as he began to unload his mount, but Olrun flicked an eyebrow to him in retaliation. The less he knew of them the better, let him spoon in the stables with the boars. Verdandi had heard her near sister, throwing a wince over her shoulder at Balfor who merely shrugged. The Dwarrow was comfortable no matter where he slept but tonight he would have to bed down with his prince in a pig pen.

“There will be an official presentation in the morning. Queen Sigrid will be in attendance. The healer arrived at noon and asked for the Athane to rest until sunset.” The Princess advised as she called for some stiplings forward with water for the lowered troughs. “I am sure that you will be needing your rest tonight at any road. There is a bathing pool at the end of your hall that’s quite large, and I will send to the kitchens for food to be brought to you directly. Dwalin will come for you in the morning and escort you to the Throne Room.”

“Is the Queen’s health so delicate?” Olrun asked concerned. Everything she had heard about the Sigrid of Dale and Laketown was that she was a healthy girl of young years.

“She is progressing faster than she has with other pregnancies. Her size is quite round now.” The princess laughed as she began to help with the animal care.

Bearers came forward to take their travel bags to their rooms above the halls. Verdandi sent Balfor and Thorin to the baths while she stuck with the sounder and starting bringing in feed. After weeks, the boars would be fed properly, not grazing free range in addition to a handful of pellets. Thorin left but clearly unhappy about this situation of which he had no control. Balfor clapped him on the shoulder to whisper something in his ear, no doubt reminding him that he was the help not in charge.

Once they were out of sight, Olrun turned to the princess speaking low. “We have a serious situation.”

The King’s mother focused on her sharply, giving instructions to the striplings. She circled her arm with Olrun’s, linking them together as if they were on an afternoon stroll. Olgr marked their progress away from the boars now that Olrun’s sow was unburdened. He had finished helping Skuld with her own possessions and indicated that she follow Olrun who gave an affirmative nod.

“Dwalin?” She asked as they neared the gate.

“Worse. Thorin Stonehelm, Dain’s son.” The Princess’ head snapped to her in surprise, as Olrun continued. “He poses as the bearer Farli. He knows nothing of our plans.”

“My lady Olrun, he knows that you and Dwalin have feelings each for the other. That is enough.” Skuld spoke quietly, knowing this place send the utterances to less amiable ears.

The ladies continued but their pace quickened. There was no dampness here so far below the surface but there was a chill in the tunnel that was more pronounced as they reached the exit to the halls. The sun would set soon possibly forcing more cold into the air below.

The Princess gave a beautiful smile that pulled at her braided jawline as she looked around the room, presenting to any that it was a joyful conversation. The small silver beads in her braids sheened against the black hair. “Why do you think he’s here? To spy?”

Olrun grinned to the King’s mother, conscious of those who could see yet not hear them. “Yes, the Ironfoot has not been happy with losing what his considers as his people. But also, to ensure that I return to the Iron Court.”

She couldn’t go back, Olrun knew this. Not after having been so close to Dwalin and felt his lips on hers again. She wanted her life with him, after so long it was within her reach! It would unimaginably cruel to have taken from her love and forced back to an alien place as an unused paramour. Life could not treat her so cruelly. Studying the Dwarrowdam before her royal or not, Erebor was her only chance.

“I dislike complications. Yet that is all we are having of late. I will think on this and figure out a way to have him sent back without you being involved.” The Princess blew out a breath only to rub her forehead and press the heal of her hand under an eye. The breaking strain seemed to be getting to her.

“The Dwarrowdams you wrote of…. They have not been contained?” The Dwarrowdams had not followed the Queen’s example according to the Princess’ correspondence, choosing another less worthy ‘dam to emulate.

The Thane’s Amad gave her a brief description of the events in last weeks, allowing for the most recent development. “At this time, we know that Herja’s is planning an escape but not its purpose because she has no wish to leave the Mountain.”

“The Stonehelm has given us the perfect solution, my dear princess. An outsider might be the perfect spy.” Olrun looked pointedly at Skuld who grinned widely and bowed her head.

*8*8*8*8*

_The Morning Dawns…._

Everyone was in high spirits the next morning, aglow with vitality and charged with purpose or so Dis would believe. Striplings delivered messages, asking for Thorin’s company to be in attendance today. There had been much grumbling but the replies had been positive. Dis wanted them all to meet Olrun and her family even though, Skuld was the official visitor. The letters between Olrun and Dis had been so hopeful or at last they gave Dis hope. The future didn’t feel as such a dark and dreary thing now, life was coming back to the Mountain. Kili would return with or without his Elf, plans could take shape in varying forms. As Dis caught sight of Vigdis, daughter of Olgr son of Tarag, she mentally snorted that it was always a good thing to have a backup plan.

Sigrid had arrived on Fili’s arm, looking beautiful in a sunny yellow frock that was complimented by a silver and gold tiara. The diadem had been a gift from King Thror to Skögul, his Athane, upon the birth of their son, Thrain. He had crafted the crown himself, sweating in the forges days upon days twisting the metal in a pretty thing for his pretty wife. If the rumors were true, his pretty wife tossed into a trunk after the presentation and never wore it again. Something about it being of an unworthy gift for the pain she had bore for the next King under the Mountain. That had been long years before the madness had taken hold of her family, destroying from the inside.

Dis possessed a clear view of the procession with Dwalin in the lead stride across the polish floor as anticipation knotted her gut. The pillion seat on the dais was a welcome change of her son’s, affording her rest and close access to Balin if there was a need. The attended spoke in low murmurs as the one who had been part of such gossip of late glided across the floor with youthful grace. The Princess had heard the speculation, so much of it was funny and completely wrong. The culmination of all her efforts for the past two years was finally coming to fruition, beginning today. The Lady Olrun had arrived along with Linnar’s daughter and a niece of surpassing strength. Each in their own way would be a wonderful contribution to the world they had dreamed would come true. A place where the line of Durin would survive and rule their Kingdom until the end of time. It was better than she had dared to wish.

Skuld was a pretty thing in charcoal gray that let her blue eyes alight, on the cusp of life and learning herself and others. The Princess was unsure of any plan to send the young ‘dam into the fray with Herja, but Olrun had faith in her abilities it seemed. Her bright smile swept the room in wonder, attracting comments from the assembled. Many Dwarrows might show interest but Dis’ plans would not allow for rivals to her grandsons.

Dis had sent for Lady Eir early to be in attendance with Balin’s permission. Taking a position at the base of the dais on the left, she was within easy reach should Balin need assistance. The princess had heard of some trouble in Herja’s suite of rooms but nothing concrete. The Lady Thrud had taken Eir to a tavern for a long afternoon, then to the archives that evening. The Lady Goll had been intent upon something but no word had come for what.

The chancellor’s apprentice was from the Iron Hills herself and had some acquaintance with the Lady Skuld, giving her a smooth entry into Herja’s circle. Erebor wasn’t rebuilt in a day, but time was against them here. Eir’s information as not steady as the Dwarrowdams did not keep her so close in their confidence. However, a young Dwarrowdam who at a glance conveyed innocence might be the better bait. The imprisoned Dwarrowdam could not ignore a chance to size up a potential rival nor could Herja allow the opportunity to pass at bringing Skuld into her fold.

Dis watched the Iron Court wayfarers, their surprise and joy with happiness and humor of her own. Looking around the room with them, the Princess tried to see it through their eyes, as if she too were here for the first time. Runes of their Thane’s lineage were carved on each pillar, a story of Dwarves stretching back to the first Durin the Deathless. The tall ceiling soaring beyond sight, so high that the light from the braziers could not illuminate it. Dwarves, unknown for the moment, but ready to accept them into the bosom of their family.

Then at the far seat of the Mountain, the Throne of Erebor, sat her son Fili. A strong Thane who loved his people robbed in majestic blues and silver tassles. At his left hand sat his father’s mighty double headed axe, ready to swing at the unrighteous and meet justice for the victims of tyranny. Regal from his seat, he was but also tempered by the Queen at his right side. A jeweled cluster had been created to resemble the Arkenstone, set high in the wall behind the throne. The diamonds were incised so they fit together without prongs, the cut edges balancing the pressure of the rocks in the setting to perfection.

When they reached the dais, the Lady Skuld along with Olgr and Verdandi walked to the steps to bow before the King. Dwalin took position before his guard with a slightly twisted, unhappy look as he stared at Olrun. Balin announced their names, extending an official invitation as a chance to enjoy closer relations with Linnar’s Folk. Many Dwarrows gossiped at the rear but nothing that could be heard directly. Olgr accepted on behalf of Skuld, taking a step back to usher forward the others for introduction.

Vigdis stepped forward with Olrun, both introduced and their family connection confirmed. Olrun in her blazing orange and unbound hair caused a stir amongst the Dwarrows and Dwarrowdams alike but Dis had a feeling she did that where ever she went. Her family braids and beard plaits were of single construction only, screaming that she was unmarried as well as available. Dwalin must have been beside himself when he first saw her at her chambers. Vigdis was more simple in dress, wearing the battle gear of a spear maiden with tight skull braids with serrated caps of a warrior. She wore no helm nor carried a pike but her bearing was severe, signaling that she understood the business of war.

Fili granted them freedom of the mountain and hospitality of the Throne, wishing felicitations to Dain and promises of renewed bonds to the Iron Court. Dis’ attention focused on the bearer in the back of the party, the one who Olrun had commented was Thorin Stonehelm. His hair was the same burnished red that she remembered, a shared color in Durin’s folk along with the black. He bore Dain’s bearing and height but his braids were warrior braids and their creations were confusing. Intentionally confusing. Yet, how a Prince of the Iron Court thought to move unseen in this mountain wearing the stamp of his ancestors upon his face, Dis could not say. The Princess knew she didn’t like him here and definitely didn’t like him so close to this issue with Herja.

The group bowed to the King under the Mountain with happy smiles and gratitude, pleased beyond measure. Dis caught Olgr’s eye and slightly tilted her head to the left, indicating they take position on that side so that they might watch the rest of the King’s audience day. The large square Dwarrow nodded with grace, indicating to his family that they move out of the way of the assembly.

Dwalin took a step then another forward in Olrun’s direction, confused and at once unhappy. His hands gripped the axe handle tightly until the whites of his knuckles showed. He wants her, Dis watched him with sadness, he wants her so badly. Willing him to take that step towards his happiness, the King’s Mother’s looked to Olrun to see the same expression of longing on her face. So close and yet so far, two people who loved the other with such passionate attachment could never be separated truly. The pain of Olrun’s correspondence had been keen and breaking, it could only have been the same for Dwalin. It helped Dis understand her son’s captain better and forgive him a little more. Balin coughed beside her, seeing the same as she, his brother’s open pain. The sound shook the tattooed Dwarrow from his trance, forcing him back into position before his guard. Dis huffed a sigh as she looked at Balin who nodded to her. They had a ways to go.

The door warden’s banged the ends of their pikes upon the floor, signaling a new arrival to the Throne room. Out of the corner of her eye, Dis could see Sigrid straighten and lean forward eagerly with a broad smile on her pretty face. Looking back to the end of the room, Dis noticed the Healer Wheat and Oin with his ear trumpet walking together towards the throne. Glorin stepped forward from the crowd to follow his brother forth, the usual glower in place. It was only once they were near that Dis could distinguish new braids on both the healer’s heads.

The three participants bowed their head in respect as Willa took Oin’s hand in hers. The murmuring in the crowds became louder at the gesture as well as the significance of the arrival of these principal individuals. Balin for all of his years and maturity called their names with a snicker that made Dis want to slap him on the arm for his teasing tone. The look Oin shot the chancellor as he straightened had the Princess biting back a snicker of her own.

Willa took a half a step forward, her dark dress fitted well and floated about her longer legs. “Thanu men. I, Willa Wheat of Dale, claim this Dwarrow, Oin son of Gróin as my own. Our courtship will be chaperoned by Glóin son of Gróin and our noble Queen, Sigrid daughter of Bard, King of Dale.”

“As King of Durin’s Folk, the Queen and I would like to extend our congratulations on this happy occasion.” Fili sat on this Throne tugging at his mustache braid while the Sigrid fair bounced with joy.

“Thanu Men, we would like to court for a month then proceed with the betrothal.” Oin looked to Willa who grinned at him, squeezing his hand.

“So soon?” Fili’s eyes widened as he looked to his Queen then back to the Willa and Oin before him.

“I am old Dwarrow, my King. What time I have left, I would spend with Mistress Wheat.” Oin spoke with conviction but his eyes were solely the tall woman at his side. Glóin humphed behind him and rolled his eyes.

“If he’s an old Dwarf, Im should be in the Halls of Waiting!” Balin grumbled beside her.

“Its amazing your life has extended so long.” Dis mocked but happy at this turn of events.

Blain and another stripling brought the young Princes into the Throne room, taking a seat on the steps closest to Sigrid. The Queen wiggled her fingers to the boys in greeting as Fian waived a toy in return. The striplings had been a gift from the gods, helping out with the boys with both Sigrid and Dis were needed elsewhere. She planned to talk to the Queen about leaving this situation in place after her birthing for she would never be able to handle a Queen’s court and raise children all at once.

“We agree that time is not always on our side. Very well, we will set aside the minimum year of courtship as a special dispensation to one of Thorin’s company. However, I do not agree with the Queen as a chaperone based upon her bearing time.” Fili enunciated the words carefully and gave Sigrid a look when she swing her head in his direction as if to protest. “Burin, son of Varin step forward!”

There was shuffling and shifting as Dwarrows moved to allow the young Dwarf who Glóin and Oin had raised to stand before the Throne. He walked tall and bowed low before the Dais. “How might I serve, Thanu Men?”

“As head of the Queen’s personal guard, your duties are already substantial. I do hate to burden you further but since the Healer Wheat is in proximity to the Queen, you are in a unique position to assist Glóin son of Gróin when he is unable to escort our couple and ensure proprieties are adhered.” Fili’s voice and manner were officious but Dis see his merriment in the twitching of his fingers on the axe handle. The poor lad was fair to bursting. “Could you undertake this additional duty?”

Burin bowed his head with a wide grin. “With humble gratitude, my King. I thank you for your trust.”

Oin looked like he had licked a toad, so puckered was his expression. The ‘old’ Dwarrow shot a look of disgust at his former ward who smiled blandly in return. This would not be a simple courtship, Burin no doubt would try following the healers even if they went to the necessary. Fili knew his business by asking for this Dwarrow for the Sigrid would let the couple run loose with no supervision!

Fian broke away from Blain to run full speed in the direction of the Iron Hill’s party. The child was so quick many were stunned at his behavior. Fili was down two steps towards them when his son latched onto a Dwarrowdam introduced as Olgr’s daughter, Vigdis. The impact was hard for Fian was a solid child for his three years with all the density of his Dwarven ancestors behind the hit. The spear maiden braced herself by stepping back with a leg to negate the force but her look of surprise was comical. Her look was nothing compared to the Royal family’s as Fian began to scream “Mine! Mine!” at the top of his mighty lungs.

The Queen and Blain were there in a trice, speaking low to the child and making him release the Dwarrowdam’s leg. His crying rose in volume as Sigrid picked the child up, swaying a little under his weight and led the way to the Royal halls. The healers, Willa and Oin took position in her wake followed by the other stripling who carried Vian and Blain. The rest of the morning was not quite so eventual as a Prince of Erebor trying to claim a Dwarrowdam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next two chapters 31 and 32 will all on the same day. And it will be a longgggg… day, so the sections will have notes at the top.. The first part of the reunion chptrs will begin with 31..*sniff…I want to thank everyone who has commented about Bain.. I was really stuck on where to go with his love life..  
> I swear I thought I would have this come in at about 3500 words.. I ended up with more.. It was the stables and pigs, Oh! The care of the battle pigs I modeled off the care of potbellied pigs. There are several websites that give great instruction on these adorable animals.. Like they pee while they drink water but hate being close to their poop. Who knew?  
> I love the byplay with Balin and Dis and Balin complaining about being in the Halls and Dis saying it was impressive he had lived so long.. it was modeled from Sense and Sensibility.. loveeee that book.  
> Abkarul Hakhd – Armored tooth, Dain’s battle pigs..


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loving can hurt  
> Loving can hurt sometimes  
> But it's the only thing that I know  
> When it gets hard  
> You know it can get hard sometimes  
> It is the only thing that makes us feel alive
> 
> Ed Sheeran ~ Photograph
> 
> 1st part is Dis, Olrun, Verdandi & Willa...Dwalin & oin are minor in this...2nd part is the reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First part of the Reunion chapters...hold on to your hats..hating on me is fine.. I rather deserve it lol  
> The chptrs 30-34 are going to be all in the same day so the time and place will be written at the top of the story to keep everyone in the loop.
> 
> Rohirric passages are numbered to correspond with the translations at the bottom.

_Late morning in Erebor_

Dis left the Audience day with the King to check Sigrid and the children during a midmorning break, leaving Olrun with her family in Dwalin and Balin’s care. Erebor’s Captain had been asked bring them to the Water Chamber to break their fast instead of the Dining halls. As much as she wanted the Broadbeams to mingle with Thorin’s company, Dis refused to allow them to be overwhelmed by it all at once. The princess hurried to the royal chambers as Blain the Stripling and Oin stood outside the doors. Fian’s wails echoed through the wood.

“How are things, Blain?” The situation was comical but it was also very problematic. If the child was old enough for such a display, it was past time for him to learn proper behavior of a Dwarrow that he would someday be, prince or not.

Dis noticed Burin standing down the hall, close to her chambers and outside of Kili’s room door. The Dwarrow turned from his place to walk the length of the hall, bowing his head as he walked to take another position at the mouth of the Royal Hall.

“The young prince is unhappy, Princess. Madam requested she be alone with him.” The Stripling bowed his head, his family braids brushing his beard. He was a good boy who gave every effort, it was just one of his many fine qualities. “The young Prince was so vocal that the Mistress Healer took Prince Vian to Prince Kili’s room for a nap.”

Dis looked down the hall at Kili’s door then back to the young Dwarf. “Is she alone or is Nial the Stripling with her?”

Oin looked down the hall with Dis as if he could see through the stone at the one who had claimed him not an hour previously. “Nial is with her. His singing is very soothing to the children. Though nothing seems to be helping Prince Fian.”

Dis grunted in agreement. “Blain, trade places with Willa please. I have asked the Broadbeams to eat in the Water Chamber, it would be good for her to attend though I doubt the Athane will be able today. It is apparent Ms. Wheat will be family and quite soon too, might as well get her feet wet!”

Oin became flushed as Blain fought off a grin. The old healer had accepted the Ms. Wheat’s claim, he might as well accept there will be some ribbing now that he will be a husband. Dis clapped him on the shoulder to hold his gaze. He was happy, she could tell by the dreamy look in his eye. Love was a blessing, something they all cherished whether it came early or late. They all deserved what happiness Mahal granted and enjoy it to the fullest.

Dis left them to walk back to the Queen’s room. The Promenade bustled with Striplings and Dwarrows hurrying with chores as well as the Hobbits returning to their quarters. The intelligence from the Woodland realm had relaxed some of the severe opposition against the trade agreement with the Stoors, only the language was being debated now. The needle work on any contract was Gloin’s responsibility who if the rumors were true, hated his staff. He had the unmitigated gall to ask Balin if Eir might assist along with Ori for the drafting process but earned a jovial laugh from the Chancellor. Gloin would be on his own.

The King’s mother waived to Dori and Bombur as they passed, both giggling like ‘dams over whether or not the Prince had just claimed a Dwarrowdam. Dis rolled her eyes and said nothing, continuing on her way. Things would spiral out of control quickly if the rumor mill wasn’t ground to a halt. She took the last turn past the Gallery of Kings when she was stopped stone dead with amazement and shock.

The Broadbeams stood in a tight group near the doors to the Water chamber, talking quickly and rapidly amongst themselves. Olrun had a most aggrieved and frustrated expression as her bright dress twisted with her movements. Her pursed gaze was centered on Dwalin’s studded leather back as he tried to extradite himself from a clingy Lady Goll not far away. The Dwarrowdam attempted to take his hand, smiling while he shook her off gruffly. There was conversation from the female but Dwalin cared little for what she had to say and liked the touching even less. Dis could see Herja’s hand in this situation and its ruinous outcome.

The King’s mother approached from behind, bearing down on the pair with single focus. Dwalin could see the look on her face, smiled and bowed his head in greeting. Dis found that what anger she possessed towards the captain was negated in view of the current climate of being the object of Goll’s attention. The Dwarrow took a step backwards but the young Dwarrowdam didn’t realize what was happening until Dis put her arm about the Lady Goll’s shoulders. Friendly if someone thought to look, but it wasn’t an emotion that Dis could say was hers.

“Dear Captain. I wonder if you might escort the Broadbeams to the Queen’s Water Chamber?” The smile Dis gave the female beside her was sweet but iron might be corroded by sugar. “I am sure they are famished after the morning’s excitement.”

Dwalin’s grim look held firm though he all but ran to Olrun and her party. The Lady Goll sputtered a protest. “But!..But, Princess, I have not seen the Captain for many weeks. I would have time with him to..”

“Listen to me closely, girl.” Dis leaned into the Dwarrowdam’s ear, tightening her hold on her shoulders until she flinched. “He isn’t for you. Make sure Herja understands that the line of Durin is closed to her.”

The Princess released the Lady Goll with a slight shove, knocking her back a step. There was no point in subterfuge in this conflict with the ‘dams, not any longer. Dis spared her not a glance but followed the Broadbeams as they walked behind Dwalin to the chamber doors. Vigdis and Skuld were absent, leaving only Olrun, her brother Olgr, and his wife Verdandi to sup together until Willa arrived. Annoyance mixed with the tension delved into her shoulders, tightening down the nerves until the base of her neck ached from it. Soaking in the hot springs would solve that problem but it wouldn’t wash away the root of the issue that caused it.

Inside the room, Olrun stood beside Dwalin, clinching his forearm in anger though her head was bowed. The air about her fair buzzed with frenzy and murderous determination. She may not have put the braids in his hair but the claim was there for all to see. Dwalin, himself didn’t touch her, only allowing her what she needed from him. He hunched his body at the waist, curving into Olrun as a shield. He was displaying every characteristic of Dwarrow in love and yet he knew it not.

Olgr looked vicious along with his wife for which, Dis could not could not blame them. “I must beg your forgiveness. You were on the road and things progressed to this point where I could not send you word.”  

Olrun’s face snapped in the Princess’ direction, her anger was like a physical reprimand. “Does that Dwarrowdam have rights to him?”

Dwalin roared his denial, almost pulling back from her. “I have until today spoken a handful of words to her. There is no understanding!”

Olrun’s fingers dug into the leather and metal vambrace encircling his forearm, locking him in place. They stared at each other, not speaking as seconds inched like caterpillars in a lazy march through time. Anger replaced his shock as Olrun backed away from her jealousy, the push pull of emotion between them jolted Dis to break the silence.

“We must talk, ladies. You see now why we must.” The King’s mother observed Verdandi whose manner promised reprisal for her near sister’s torment. Revenge is a very strong motivator. “Dwalin if you would take Olgr, son of Tarag with you today? I am sure that he would enjoy the forges and maybe the barracks. Where is….your attendants, the others?”

“Princess, the Lady Eir is taking the Lady Skuld about the Mountain. They will sup in the Dining Halls or so the Lady Eir advised.” Dwalin stared at Olrun who turned away her face but he continued. “The Lady Vigdis is unused to the attention in the Throne Room and has returned to their quarters. Thorin Stonehelm and Balfor are below in the stables.”

Olrun gasped as she looked up to him in surprise, there too Olgr and his Verdandi were shocked. Dwalin, himself, looked at them nonplussed. “What? Think you that I could not see him as Dain’s piglet?”

The tattooed Dwarf chuckled softly as his anger dissolved with Olrun’s expression softened its rigid lines. He motioned Olgr to the door, his eyes searching her face for an indication of her mood. They would eat with the guards and drink with them too no doubt. Yet for all his smiles, Dwalin looked undecided, not wanting to leave Olrun. Reaching out, he grasped her family braids to run his thumb over the plaited strands with his forehead bare inches from the strawberry blond’s. Dis felt like a voyeur, uncomfortable for the first time to see Dwalin interact with a female in obvious affection. Where Goll’s insistence had left him cold and frustrated, Olrun warmed the son of Fundin with only a look. If Olrun didn’t hurry up and claim him, Dis would eat her beard!

A deep cough from Olgr reminded them both they were not alone in this round expanse, for they might as well have been. Dwalin released her reluctantly, leaving in the same stomping fashion. Seeing their love, the raw ache of it, reminded the Princess of why they were here. Why the choices she had made had brought them all here. Hope could be unkind and yet the most powerful force aside from love. Olrun might have opened herself up to the worst of wounds because she wanted to believe that something good could finally happen for the two lovers. Hope was the possibility that could bend reality into a single, perfect image.

“What is this Dwarrowdam’s power? Her family? Some skill?” Olrun’s voice was cutting, yet she ever stop staring at the door where her love had left.

Dis moved to the buffet that had been set up for the guests. An empty stomach was not an asset. “Herja has none, merely capitalizing on the Dwarrowdam belief system. Goll, the lady outside, is unpopular so she has less.”

“So they can’t be married off in an alliance?” Olrun turned to Dis for affirmation then began to pace. “The problem with the old traditions is only that the Dwarrowdams might claim despite the young Prince’s exhibition this morning.”

Verdandi chuckled as she joined the Dis for the food to add simply, “Quite shocking.”

Dis joined her in snickering, Olrun finally breaking into grin. The grade of her anger was still high, especially in the fixed carriage of her body as she paced the room but the humor had cracked her wrath for the moment. Dis found she like this Dwarrowdam more than just from what she had read in the letters. This Broadbeam had love of a good thick skulled Dwarf, travelled the long road aback a pig to be with him and would destroy her enemies to keep him.

“We could always marry this Herja off to the Stonehelm.” Verdandi spoke around cuts of veal, taking a seat on a divan by the Queen’s chair. “Might as well make use of him since he isn’t leaving. I have an old Boar who might like the other one.”

“I don’t want Herja marrying into Durin’s line, no matter how distant. Should something happen to Fili or Kili before Fian matures or after he comes of age, we would be fighting to keep the Ironfoot and his piglet out of the Mountain. She would drive him forward with a sharp tongue and vengeful ideas.” Dis had no doubts that Herja would push that Fian was not pure that his mother’s blood tainted him, making him unfit to see the Throne of Erebor. “But the idea of Goll with the Boar has merit.”

They fell silent for a time, making Dis wonder if might they were overthinking this situation. Sometimes the most complicated problems had very simple solutions. It usually took another pair of eyes to look at the issue from another direction for a different perspective. Only, it was the same problem on each side.

“It would be so much more manageable if she were lewd.” Verdandi took a quaff of her ale, spilling a little on her dark green bodice. “The Dwarrows will abjure Herja’s lead if her morals and behavior were questionable.”

“She has been lewd.” Dis informed them, rising to replenish her drink. “With the King. Her behavior at the Durin’s day celebration was scandalous until Sigrid became ill and…”

Bringing back that memory forced a chuckle from the Princess. It was amusing that Sigrid would go to such lengths and prevail. Until that moment, all the Dwarrows had marked the interest of Dwarrowdam in their King. Now all they remembered is that Herja wore a dress covered in the Queen’s sick.

“So we need to put Herja in a place where she might be vulgar for all to see.” Olrun tapped a fingernail on her chin as she mused, staring off into space. “If she is neutralized, what will happen with the other ‘dams, like Goll, do you think?”

“I think that with Sigrid establishing her own court here, the stragglers will be ineffectual. Not all of the ladies who follow Herja, like her.” Dis began thinking of Lady Thrud, both in a positive and a negative way. “Cut off the head of Dragon and let the body die.”

“The enemy of our enemy is not always our friend.” Verdandi advised as she stuffed a pastry in her mouth and moaned at the taste.

“No.” Dis agreed. “But we need to heal. As long as Sigrid never gives those ‘dams a foothold in an inner circle, we can build from there. The celebration for Dale and Erebor as allies will be in two days. A party would work marvelous much but I know my son. Fili will not allow Herja her freedom to interact or be lascivious.”

Olrun’s eyes took a mischievous glint. “Then allow her to escape. She wants to escape, so allow it.” Seeing the look of horror on the Dis’ face, Verdandi picked up the thread of thought from her near sister. “I think I saw Hobbits this morning. What if she were found in their company? In say a compromising view? A diplomatic marriage would be arranged, _it would have to be arranged_! Her honor would demand it.”

The ladies stared in shock at each other as the ramifications of such thoughts planted in minds to bear fruit. The possibilities of those plans would go settle so many affairs. Herja would be eliminated, gone from Erebor as the wife of a Stoor to live near the Anduin. The Stoors would be giving concessions of goods but also a positive link in marriage. But was it right to use them in that way?

Before they could continue the line of thought and where it might lead, Willa Wheat entered the room. The tall healer froze at the threshold, staring at the Broadbeams but said nothing for long minutes. The inactivity in the rambunctious woman was rather unnerving.

“Mistress Willa, may I present Olrun, daughter of Tarag and her near sister, Verdandi.” The Princess watched the Healer’s face tighten briefly in anxiety then relax.

Olrun stared at the Willa with something akin to a smile. Dis was hesitant of the undercurrent between the two females but she was sure they had never met before today. Willa held herself with pride, completely unflinching before the Iron Hill’s Dwarrowdam’s scrutiny. It was confusing and distressing at once.

“I get the impression you two are acquainted in some way?” Dis began the opening to help clear the air. It would not do for internal fighting to begin before the Queen’s Court was established or the foundation would be built upon quicksand.

Willa spoke first. “We have crossed paths some years ago.” Her eyes never left the Lady Olrun whose smile became expressive. After the long stare, the Dwarrowdam sighed and nodded to the healer, breaking the connection.

“My Princess, I am sure that the Queen is very good hands with this woman.” Olrun’s tone was polite yet she watch Willa with avid curiosity.

“Is she your Princess? You are from the Iron Hills and would return there after a space of time.” Willa challenged but never moved from her position. The Princess started in her seat, for she had never seen Willa aggressive unless in the Sigrid’s defense.

Dis answered before Olrun was able. “Her address shows good manners, nothing more.” Turning to look at the Dwarrowdams in question, Dis continued. “We shall have no battles here in the Water Chamber. We serve at the Queen’s pleasure as well as for her protection and that of my grandsons. I welcome Olrun and the other Broadbeams.” Dis looked again at the woman who had claimed her cousin. “Like you, Willa, someone holds her heart in Erebor.”

Verdandi rose and walked to Willa, shaking her greens skirts as she went. Her progress was slow as if she approached a wounded animal. Willa folded her hands behind her, staring down at the shorter Dwarrowdam who grinned up to the taller woman. Tentatively, Olgr’s wife put a hand upon the Healer’s arm. The entire event confounded Dis who could only stare in confusion. What goes on here? she thought.

“You have no enemies here, cousin, so let the past go. We do not judge for we are the same as you.” The ‘dam watched the healer close, rubbing her thumb across the corded muscles in her bicep. “Your choices lead you to this place, it is as Mahal wills it.”

Olrun rose from her seat to join her near sister, her eyes on Willa. She put her hands on Verdandi’s shoulders to speak quietly. “We rejoice in your claiming, cousin. And we wish you every joy.”

Dis stood, unable to bear it any longer. “Why do you call her cousin? Is Willa a relation?”

The healer allowed a disgruntled look as she took a deep breath. “I was born under the name of Urd but called myself Willa when I took Lee Wheat for my husband. My mother’s mother was named Gerd of the Dourhands. Your enemies in the Blue Mountains.”

An objective viewpoint was beyond her; Willa was single-minded to a fault, though the confession took the Princess aback. The Dourhands in Ered Luin had been their closest foes, killing any Durin’s folk or Firebeard. The worst of their lean years in Ered Luin had been because the Dourhands and their penchant for greed, killing as much of the game and livestock as they could then thieving the rest.

“You should know, Princess. Not all Dourhands are dishonorable. Some broke with the tribe to travel east to the Broadbeam halls and there settled. Gerd refused to follow, taking a husband among the race of Men. My own Amad is of that line as Gerd’s older sister. Willa has only been to Linnar’s halls a few times and it has been years. The Ironfoot was unforgiving of mixed raced children.” Olrun breathed deep, turning away from the healer to look fully at Dis. “Do you think us less for this knowledge? We hold our honor, Princess, just as we would hold yours and the Queen.”

“I am surprised, make no mistake. But the healer has acted honorably, despite her chasing my old friend!” Willa ducked her head as she blushed but chuckled as well. Dis continued. “We are new to each to each other for all of our correspondence. Yet, I know Dwalin son of Fundin. Mahal could never have joined him with a dishonorable mate. Does Oin know of your Dwarf Gamul Khagun, Willa?”

The healer shook her head. “I thought it might count for little as that line is weak in my blood. I call myself a daughter of Man, not a child of Mahal.”

Dis sighed long as the day’s events relentlessly plagued her. “There is no shame at being both, my friend. Nevertheless, Oin should know. And tell him soon, else someone might who is not your friend.”

*****************

_Far to the south in Rohan_

 

After a week of rain and slush on the road, the sun was a blessing this morning. They had forded the River Isen under a deluge the previous day that almost floundered poor Daisy. Her shorter height forced them to seek shallower depths at the Fords but the swollen tide was unforgiving. Reaching the banks, the poor pony had fair collapsed, flagging under the weight of her packs and exhaustion. Kili and the others quickly distributed her load to the other animals and make camp early in the evening to allow them to rest.

This morning’s gentle rising had been a kiss and a promise of new day, full of soft breezes and milder weather. The hills climbed skyward, gentle browns and pocketed greens. So unlike the bleak chilled grey of jagged mica that he knew far to the north of here, the familiar crags that held the stories of his kin. This country was not his home and he treated it as such, watching each movement and bird screech. Dorlad and Bain kept a watchful eye as well, for the wilds didn’t suffer the unwary.

They had crossed the Nan Curunir, covering the ground in lengthening strides of pressed horses and ponies. Lord Elrond had counseled against their resting at Isengard and Dorlad was not in favor either. The Dunedain were cautious of the White Wizard who looked down upon them from the darkening spire in the distance. Kili had no memory of him, only Gandalf and Radagast bore a prominent place in his memories. But he trusted Dorlad’s instincts, letting them guide him in this unknown land.

They rested, taking their meal in the shadow of a grassy knoll. The animals and riders both were drying in the sun, the mud flecking away in the breeze that soaked them through in the night. Interesting country, Kili thought. Severe, yet many found a life in these lands or made one. The Dunlendings were more of a problem here, raiding small settlements for food or just mischief. Dorlad talked about his time here, chasing the wild men back to their shadows. Kili was of the opinion that Dorlad marked time by the battles he had engaged and the places he had been, for his trip to Rohan had not been recent. Being a member of a long lived race, he knew no other way nor cared to.

Remembering the words of the Stiffbeard he had encountered, Kili discussed about the possibility of going to Dol Amroth after they left Gondor and short visit with Tilda. If the Gondorians valued Elves with their grace and beauty, Tauriel would never have comfortable there. She had never been one for notice, always shying away from attention unless in a fight. If she had made it to the White City, she would never have stayed. Dorlad agreed, saying they could take a boat down the Anduin and give the horses some rest before going overland from Ethir Anduin. The plan was a sound one, giving him something to think about in the night rather than the length of time he had been away from his family. Dorlad possessed none of his determination, affable to his core and willing to join them on this adventure as he put it. Yet with each day, Kili felt further from his love and the chances of finding her slim.

They set off again as the sun reached its zenith, warming their cold bones from the relentless chill of previous days. The horses began to snort, moving away when compelled to advance. Isen who had been more docile of late became enraged, bellowing challenge after challenge to a far rocky boundary. Warg crow hopped, baring his teeth at the same direction. Thunder echoed in the distance as Dorlad laughed, kicking his mount towards the rise.

It was a rowdy group that greeted Dorlad at the pinnacle, making a complicated gesture in greeting that Kili thought reminded him of Elvish manners, giving a rise in different opinions of these people. There were about thirty five Riders, all well mounted and armed heavy. A patrol he surmised as they circled their thick muscled horses in varying coats with laughing calls to the Dunedain. When Riders attention fixed upon Kili and Bain at their approach, the stream of words became rapid as if trying to understand the Ranger’s companions. Had they never seen a Dwarf in this life? Kili thought as he noted their weapons as well as their hands.

The leather they wore was finely worked, studded gambesons that looked lighter than what Kili and Bain brought with them. These soldiers were in the saddle obviously, longer hours than others. A lighter load for the horse to carry would ensure the animal’s endurance. The pikes some carried were more wood than metal, lighter yes but could splinter just as fast. Their swords were broad that he could see but the scabbards prevented closer inspection.

The introductions were made in Rohir with Dorlad pointing the leader as Dernhelm astride a tall grey spotted beast. Kili and Bain laid a hand on their chest in salutation that went completely unnoticed by the curious Rohirrim. Visitors were probably few and far between in so remote an area, to the point where only their language was spoken here and not even the slightest bit of the Common Tongue. Kili could see the smattering of Sindarin he had learned would be of no help at all.

Isen was disinterested though Bain kept his hand on the horse’s neck as he watched the soldiers. One passed to close, earning a snort and Isen spinning in place as he sized up the rival. The shrill call rent the air as Isen blew his nostrils at him. There was more pointing from the male at Isen but he withdrew when the large red stallion flatten his ears with bared teeth. The conversation was confusing, some words making sense but not in a thought of any length. Another rider made an attempt to touch Kili’s bow and quiver but a sharp word stopped him and his questing hand.

“He says that you might be good with a bow but their archer master can pin your stones to your saddle!” Dorlad told him with a laugh as he drank from a waterskin handed to him by a Rohir. He seemed quite at ease with the group, more so than Kili or Bain.

“That doesn’t impress me. I find it hilarious that only their master is capable and none of them.” Kili groused as he looked at each with frown. “Why are so many here?”

“Standard patrol from Helm’s deep. They keep an eye on the Fords to make sure no enemies cross. But they have invited us to dinner and possibility a bed, so we will be indoors tonight.” Dorlad shook his head as he continued to converse with the Rohirrim but a strange look crossed his face the exchange continued.

“What is the problem? You seem confused.” Bain asked when the others wheeled away to give their horses free rein. They called to Dorlad, gesturing for him to follow, as many blew curved horns of deep music.

“My grasp of Rohir is slipping. I could have sworn he was referring to their master archer as a woman. There hasn’t been shield maidens in Rohan for many a year.” Dorlad cocked his head to the others and road southeast to follow the horsemen. Bain shrugged at him as leaned forward in the saddle and relaxed the reins, allowing Isen to leap in excitement.

They caught up with the Riders easy enough, allowing their horses to take a comfortable stride. The scenery slipped into a blur of gray rocks folded into the brushy meadows with a pale sky at the horizon. The Rohirrim joked and pointed things to Dorlad who nodded and call back explanations at different landmarks. A battle here, a kiss stolen from a Rohir girl there, his last drinking contest while n Rohan. Kili wanted to roll his eyes at some of the tales, quite like the Dwarves on their Quest for Erebor. A group of males together of any race are the same from one country to the next.

The sun beat down on his right shoulder was the rough crests of the White Mountains came back into view. A large spur cut away from the grasslands, black and gray against the pale capped sky. They gained the height, laying a scene that stretched for miles away. A small village nestled in the lee of a promontory for shelter as well as defense. Figures moved at the distance, people and livestock going about their daily lives.

As they set off once more, Kili noticed scorched earth in intervals out and away from the hamlet. Calling out to Dorland, he asked, “Were they attacked? Why is so much of the ground burned?”

The Dunedain questioned the rider next time which began an even exchange. He turned slowed his mount to ride abreast of the Dwarf. “There was sickness here of late. Many of the old let go of their lives and some children were taken too. They do not bury here but burn the bodies. It is only in Edoras away to the east that they bury their kin underground.”

Passing by the settlement, Kili could see their struggle. Like the Dunedain village, these people understood hardship but there was happiness here instead of desolation. Children waived cheerfully, chasing each other at play as Riders called out to them. Dorlad spoke quietly, that wives and mothers stayed in the village while the men lived at the Hornburg grouped with their Eored. A horse herd could be seen in the distance with a small party of Rohir as their protectors.

The first sight of the Hornburg, took Kili’s breath and the gasp beside him said it took Bain’s as well. A massive structure, as big as Erebor and rivalling Mirkwood. While Balin taught them statecraft as Striplings, his brother and Uncle Thorin had regaled old tales of the Riddermark and the defenses of Gondor. Yet, nothing came close to seeing it before him. It set back against the rock like any proper Delf of Khazad might, burrowing in to the granite for the additional protection of the stone face. No enemy might take this fortress without the blessing of their gods and very large army.

Equine statues ringed the outer lip of the Helm’s deep, jutting out towards the plains. Blackened pits scraped out of the earth and lined with shale dotted the valley intervals with hay mangers lining the bottom of the Causeway supports. Horse herds could be seen in the valley proper, milling around at the Deeping Wall and back in front of the causeway. Large and sleek, they bore the same ancestry as Isen, traced back to the Mearas of Bema. Their colors varied yet none bore the dark fire of Isen’s coat, making him stand apart from the rest. A great shout could be heard at the peaks coupling with horns that sounded in the deep for a returning group or Eored as Dorlad called him.

Helm’s deep had been the gift of a benevolent Gondorian Steward to the Horselords in an effort to win them to his cause. Eorl had pacted with Cirion to come to Gondor’s aid should they ever have need. But even with the fall and breaking of the line of Kings had a Steward of the White City seen the worth of these people until the Balchoth rose in fearful might outside of Mirkwood. Now beacons and patrols stretched to the horizon as a shield to stand against the sword of the enemy. The valley stronghold continued to be part of a kingdom that valued life in growing things rather than a gathering dark.

They took the causeway at a walking file as the curved ramp lipped to the great doors of the Hornburg. The Deeping Wall, Kili could see was thickly worked stone, masoned into fine detail save for the culvert at its base. A Dwarf would have seen that the drain was a weakness, diverting the stream to prevent erosion or enemy access to the vale upon the other side. But knowing the pride these Riders took in themselves and their lives, Kili didn’t think they would respond well to opinions that could be seen as a detraction from this impressive structure.

Their animals attended, the trio mounted the steps from the bailey into the arched entrance of the Keep. The great hall was the same as what he knew and yet was not. Narrow and long, the hall bore signs of it origin. Rough scored rock walls rose tall into the inky black ceiling. The support system was of a construct much different from Erebor or even Thorin’s halls in Ered Luin. Cylindrical stone pillars speared the roof but fanned away like a spider web with bowed lines to hold the weight. No carving nor runes here, leaving only naked rock to be dressed with the occasional tapestry of renowned deeds and white horses of their legend. Round iron braziers large enough to hold three stout Dwarrows and a fat pig spotted the hall for warmth as grey smoke spiraled into thicker clouds overhead. Kili snuck a quick look to Bain who was trying yet failing to hide his curiosity at this place they had heard of from masters and traveler’s tales.

Tables were set out from the wall with benches tucked in their legs. There were some Rohir here already, talking in groups or working on weapons. Most activity stopped at the sight of the guests in the hall, but dismissed the occurrence for their work or conversation. A large chair sat upon an elevated dais at the head of this room, though the Man who stood higher than soldier before him didn’t use it. One who leads will stand higher than others, or so that had been Kili’s experience. It didn’t mean that he was a great leader, maybe he was capable of encouraging his soldiers to greatness.

A sunbeam from a west facing window separated the grey stands from the brown and blond upon his head but also gave light to a careworn face. He was a commander, this man who understood the blood price of the battlefield and drank with the victorious. Yet, for all that, Kili’s impression screamed that he would also honor his enemies and never desecrate the dead. These Horselords bred dignity and truth of life in each Man, they suckled it in their mother’s milk.

The Man Kili took for the Lord of the Keep was a great bear of a specimen, filling out his dark green surcoat to the seams. His posture was same probably whether standing erect or upon his horse in full battle armor. Strength and honor pulled his man’s shoulders back, supporting his people and seeing to their needs. Pride covered every inch of him, pride in himself and pride for his men. Little pulled the large Man’s grim attention from the talking brown haired soldier before him, not the visitors to his massive keep nor the small conversations in the wings of the room. Tension squeezed his body slowly as he stared down at the Rider who groused for some reason. While the words were unrecognizable to Kili, the subordinate’s tone sounded childlike as if the soldier wanted something but was being denied.

With gestures and plaintive voice, the Rider continued.“1…midad vid frábaer skref sem hún hefur gert hér og líka ad vera eign vid vardflokks thinn. Ég myndi halda ad thú myndir taka mál mitt og leyfa tilhugalíf, thá loksins hjónaband! Slík stéttarfélags gaeti adeins styrkja böndin sem binda hana hér.”

The great boom of the Lord’s voice, echoed down the hall. It was louder than the Rider’s had been, but much more final as if he was rendering a judgement. “2 Ég skil skodanir thínar, Werrmund. En thad er ekki leid okkar í Riddermark. Fadir thinn aetti ad hafa útskýrt thetta. Ef konan vill ekkert af thér, thá er ad enda thad. Pú myndir gera vel til ad skilja ad Filly mun ekki taka beisli og finna annad fjall sem vilja.”

The Rider stood with head bowed before hefting a sigh and backing away. Kili could see he was young, not much older than Bain at his side. With the audience over, the young Rider joined his friend to one side and together, they walked down the long expanse to leave the hall. There was some grumbling from another group as the Lord’s head swung to their direction. The conversation was quieter, like the men were not in favor or didn’t like the Rider who left if their countenance told the story.

The leader of the Riders, Dernhelm, stepped forward to bow his head to the Lord on the dais. The laugh that barked from this large Man, reminded Kili of the tangled Warg as he looked over Dernhelm’s shoulder at Dorlad. The Lord stepped down, grinning as he clasped the Dunedain’s arm in familiarity as the two continued in Rohirric phrases. Many in the room broke into a grin, calling a greeting their friend as he turned to motion the Lord forward to introduce Kili and Bain.

“This great bull of a Rider is Aeldklif son of Haramer, Marshall of the Westfold. We fought together some years ago. Wild men.” Looking back to the Lord, Dorlad smiled. “3My Herra, tetta are my felagar..”

Lord Aeldklif interrupted with a smile and clap to back. “Ranger friend, I speak Common now. My Daughters speak better. Rangers too, they?” The Lord indicated the Dwarf and young man before as Dorlad complimented him on his education.

He hardly had the typical demeanor of a Dwarf, no matter a Ranger. Kili towered with a straight back for his smaller height, with a proud jaw, grizzled chin, high cheekbones to pair with dark amber eyes. For all his quality, he resembled a displaced warrior from a derelict holdfast in his muddied things. If this Lord Aeldklif might see him as such, then he would not disagree. Kili also found that that he was thankful Dorlad had kept his and Bain’s title to himself. This Lord might be an old friend of Dorlad but Kili held his reservations until proved otherwise of good intent.

“This one rides blood stallion?” Aeldklif motioned to Bain. “Scout Rider tells that blood stallion comes.”

Dorlad whispered conspiringly, “The people of Rohan believe that a red stallion is a harbinger for war or conflict….. that death rides him. A horse culture such as theirs has a belief for every color mounted. You will see greys as the most prevalent while white is the most sacred.” He pointed to the banners overhead with the running white horse upon the field of green. Aeldklif good naturedly pulled Dorlad away to push him towards two older Men who helped tankards into the Ranger’s hands.

The Lord, himself, escorted the pair to a heavy wooden table loaded with kegs of beer, passing tankards to Bain then to Kili. Aeldklif showed no difference that Kili was a Dwarf, indicating food and bread if they had need. The generosity of his hall was plenty, warming the Dwarrow faster than the beer. The atmosphere was spirited now, as shouts and echoes of the same bounced in the high ceiling of a language that was rough but no less friendly.

A group of Riders thundered into the hall, their bellowing laughter so loud that it was close to splitting the Dwarf’s ears. At the distance of so many paces, had he been closer there would be blood spilling from them by now. Until now, he had thought only Dwarves could be so brash in their enjoyment. A fine itch began at the backs of Kili’s arms as if ants marched beneath the skin in running tracks up and down the soft parts of his flesh. The quiver was unusual, something that Dwarrow had not felt before just now. Rolling his neck to quiet the sensation, he turned away to replenish the good beer that stocked Lord Aeldklif’s hall, when Bain grabbed his arm with a vicious shake.

“Kili! Look!” Bain gasped, still tugging hard on Kili’s arm who turned back to the Rohir and their big bellied happiness.

There, across the way stood a figure wrapped in a cowl and cloak of muted green. A woman but what was so special about it? Kili thought as the Lord stepped away and the individual followed. The ant itch continued, graduating to bees humming in his ears as a chilled iron feeling slid down his neck as he watched the cloaked Rider. It was an Elf, a female of her race. The Elvish of their kind is not in the ears or the lithe bodies and pale skin but the grace of their movements. This Elf, he knew not for the red that pecked from its cover not the tone of her voice that he could hear. It was her stride, the swivel of hip and dance of leg that was just as telling as her name.

So shocked was he that her name came out as a whisper only. “Tauriel.”

It had been enough for his Elleth to hear as her head jerked in his direction. Wide green eyes shocked completely at the sight of him, ground him to a halt. Her beauty was undimmed in the convening years, she was so unchanged. Confusion crunched her face as she gasped his name once almost in a moan of pain. He could see tears forming in her eyes, awash now with despair and fear that made no sense.

“Tauriel!” Kili broke the hold his feet had upon the rock underneath his boots, taking a step forward.

The hall became so quite now, every head turned to watch the spectacle in front of them. An Elf of their guard stunned and frozen while he, a Dwarf, was the reason. Kili was uncaring of what they saw, cared even less for that they thought. This was his One, his love and greatest treasure. She stared back at him, as captivated as he until Lord Aeldklif touched her arm in concern. The Lord followed her gaze to alight upon Kili and his surprised happiness.

The touch was a signal, a clarion call of awareness. Tauriel began to shake her head, gripping her hands into tight fists, bending to clutch herself in misery as she looked to Bain at Kili’s side. The worry of what she thought that brought her such agony, spurred the Dwarf in panicked strides but for naught. Turning a heel, Tauriel fled the hall with a snap of her cloak to disappear into an arched doorway.

“Tauriel! No! Please!” The roar of men around him meant nothing, nor did Bain’s attempt to hold him still. She was leaving, running from him, but why?

 

***88*** Translations..

1“….considering the great strides that she has made here and too being an asset to your garrison. I would think that you would accept my suit and allow courtship, then eventually marriage! Such a union could only strengthen the ties that bind her here.”

2“I understand your opinions, Werrmund. But it is not our way in the Mark. Your father should have explained this. If the lady wants none of you, then that is the end of it. You would do well to understand that Filly will not take your bridle and find another mount that will.”

3“My lord, these are my companions..”

**********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really want to say Im sorry if the wording for the Rohirric looks off. I took a mixture of Icelandic, checking it against an Old English translator but leaving out the pronouns, conjunctions and a few other sentence parts. I was in no way trying to insult anyone with my hashed up mix.  
> Dernhelm was the name Eowyn took to muster at Dunharrow then ride with the Rohirrim to Battle. I thought it a good parallel that she took a name that 55 years before the war of the ring, she might have a memory of him.  
> Urd shows up in Norse Myth along with Skuld and Verdandi, her name means fate and I thought it was a lovely choice considering Sigrid’s fate has always been in her hands.  
> Gerd was old Norse for ‘Fenced In’ a Jotunn goddess … well I rather wanted her to break free in my story and have a fun life.  
> The part about the red stallion is more of a reference to the horsemen of the apocalypse. War rode a red horse. The King of Rohan sent Isen to Bard in Dale as a gift but Isen had been found as a colt not far from Helms deep…  
> Nan Curunir – means the valley of Saruman or the Wizard’s Vale.  
> *I remember the part from Return of the King where Denethor said they would burn like the heathen kings of old. I thought that it would be a good contrast that there are peoples ‘who keep to the old ways’ to burn rather than bury.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loving can heal  
> Loving can mend your soul  
> And it's the only thing that I know (know)  
> I swear it will get easier  
> Remember that with every piece of ya  
> And it's the only thing we take with us when we die
> 
> Ed Sheeran - Photograph

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> REUNION PART 2
> 
> Fili/Sigrid / Dis...Willa/ Olrun
> 
> Kili and Tauriel..sigh...
> 
> I want to thank everyone for their patience.. I tend to second guess myself with this work and this is a huge chapter.. so enjoy...

_Late afternoon in Erebor_

Sigrid ambled into the Water Chamber, tired and exhausted. Fian had finally relaxed into a nap, after Sigrid hummed until it felt as if her throat was raw. She would have continued until her voice left her if it meant her son was happy and at ease. The rocking her oldest child in her arms connected them together yet he had stubbornly refused to release the idea of that Dwarrowdam. The thoughts of his screaming tantrum was both funny and disturbing for his years. Never had he been so possessive, what could have gotten into him? Power corrupts, particularly in Dwarves as if it companioned itself with the greed. In Thorin’s situation, she had heard that it had deadened him to all save his own desire but Sigrid had vowed it wouldn’t happen to her family. Fili showed no signs of the madness, so it couldn’t have manifested in Fian and never at so young an age.

“Uri? Please send to Thanu Men that I am in the Water Chamber and await his leisure?” The young Dwarrow bobbed a smile, setting off to the Throne room. There were manners needed in all things but none more than when she spoke to people who were considered hers.

The Queen waived to Willa who stood by the wine, pouring herself a healthy dose. Amad Dis walked the length of the room behind food table, reading something of significance. Normally, if there was anything of special importance, the princess attacked her with it as soon as possible. Seeing her near mother’s preoccupied mood, Sigrid lay down on a wide divan across the room hoping for a respite.

“Sigrid, the chair.” Dis pointed, never looking up from the scroll, to the curved backless seat of power that she insisted Sigrid reside whenever she was in the room. The younger woman had been mistaken that her presence had gone unnoticed by the King’s Mother.

The Queen lifted her head and sighed as she stared at the stone monstrosity of her nightmares. With her back as sore as it was from trying to care for Fian, she couldn’t bear the idea of sitting so erect. “I will be royal later.”

“You just missed Olrun and Verdandi. They left for the stables to check the animals but will return.” Dis advised with a snort as she shook her head at the Healer. “Our Queen is incorrigible.”

Willa chuckled as she put down her goblet and walked to where Sigrid lay on her back. Taking a seat, she rolled the Queen on her side to face the wall and knuckled the bearing woman along her spine. The pressure of the healer’s fingers broke the tension to give her some relief. Of late Sigrid’s back bothered her more, interfering with simple tasks and activities with the children. It was as if the larger than normal pregnancy was already pulling at her spine where she normally didn’t feel this pain until almost the end of her bearing. She and Fili had to be more creative in their physical activities for she was not about to abstain from her husband’s attentions.

Sigrid moaned quite unashamed at Willa’s handiwork. “What think you of them? Why are there so many? I thought there was only supposed to be one, maybe two.”

Willa’s hands paused on at her shoulders, drawing Sigrid’s attention to the woman. The healer stared over her shoulder at Dis but said nothing. It gave Sigrid the impression that there had been much that passed in this chamber before she arrived between the ladies. It made her smile that Willa was included as well in whatever scheme Dis was manipulating. That Willa had claimed Oin, gave Sigrid a smile during the worst of Fian’s tantrum.

Dis’ tone reached her from the other side of the room. It was a controlled response which meant it as completely true but there were other things missing. “Dwarrowdams cannot run about unchaperoned. It took much convincing to allow Skuld to leave Linnar’s hall. Olrun was helpful in that regard.”

“The wife or the one making eyes at Dwalin?” Sigrid questioned as she breathed out her relief when Willa found a vicious spot at her neck.

It had been quite hard to miss the public display between the Captain of the Guard and one of the Dwarrowdams. Sigrid had smiled in remembrance for there had been a time when she had ached just as deeply for Fili. She could remember every moment they were together, and in each of them there was something wonderful and fulfilling. The days of their quiet evenings in Lake Town to his recovery in her home in Dale. The long days after when he fought for his brother to heal and stave off Dain the Usurper. The longer nights when they married and he taught her true pleasure of how real the love of a Dwarf could be.

“They are in love or have been for forty years.” Dis told her with a smile in her voice. Yes, her near mother definitely knew more than what she had spoken already.

“Forty years!” Sigrid giggled on her side. “That is a long courtship even for a Dwarrow.”

“It’s a longer tale but it is Olrun’s if she wishes to share.” Willa advised with gentle finality as she worked her way down from the Queen’s neck. The knots under her skin were heavier there, muscles and nerves bound in a writhing mass of stress.

Sigrid’s tension of late had been higher due to Herja’s enforced seclusion which had gone on longer than she had intended. An enemy sitting on her hands has too much time for plotting, letting free to roam the Mountain gave her a measure of exposure. Fili refused to discuss releasing her from her quarters but allowed visitors but no more than two at a time. Reports had come to Dis that more were meeting with the disgraced ‘dam, however without proof little could be accomplished with the restrictions. Sigrid worried that when the Dwarrowdam made her move to escape, there would be none to stop her.

Willa’s advocacy of late had been quite the boon for the young Queen. What things were said in the Water Chamber mattered little for Willa would be distant family once the marriage was celebrated. Better that she understand the paths of the family she would be apart than wonder later. Dis began to pace once more with an echoing stride as Willa’s fingers turned light instead of digging. The Healer’s mind was elsewhere as she worked the spinal bone in varying feels and presses.

Fili barged into the room, snatching his diadem from his brow to shake out his braids. The Mithril coronet flew across the room as if it sprouted wings of a raven to alight upon a far cushion. Willa’s hands lift her patient as she rose and walked away to give room for the King. Sigrid shifted to a sitting position, her smiles and sighs of happiness whispered in the room as her love gathered her into his arms.

“How fares the little troublemaker, my heart?” Fili wiggled into her neck as he pulled her close. There was nothing so good in this world than her love’s touch upon her skin.

“Asleep, finally.” Tilting her head against his, they pressed close together to share breath as well as life. Somethings she would never forget nor fail to thank every god in their world for Fili popping out of her toilet.

He slid his hands up her arms in comfort, each taking the time to acquaint themselves with the other no matter the length they had been apart. Responsibilities, duties, a Kingdom that refused to run itself, all these things yet, she would have been just as happy to be with him if he were still a wandering Dwarf upon the road. Her da wouldn’t have liked that, but Sigrid would never have cared. His arms were the home she had always wanted, surrounded by love and peace of spirit.

“So Amad, why am I fending rumors of my son being the first Stripling in our history to claim a ‘dam?” Fili moved to look at his mother but brought Sigrid further into his lap. His kneading thick fingers in her lower back and hips ensured her compliance.

“You allowed the Lady Skuld to come. She had to be chaperoned.” Dis advised as she kept moving far to the other side of the room. Sigrid leaned into Fili’s shoulder as the exhaustion of the day pushed her into a waking dream.

“Yes, but there were there unmarried Dwarrowdams in my Throne Room this morning, who will accompany them? One of which has caught the eye of my son. I am marking it as a child’s fancy but the grumblings have started.” Fili’s words were quiet but there was strength behind them that stopped his mother in her pacing to look at him. Sigrid raised her head too, gazing at her husband first then to the Healer. “We have a Dwarrowdam problem with one in seclusion and you have invited more with no real clue on why.”

Willa looked uncomfortable as her greater height meant she would not be dropping from notice. Dis nor Fili had commented upon her leaving the room as yet for which the young Queen was thankful. Catching Sigrid’s eye, the tall woman subtly motioned to the door with a tilt and shrug, though Sigrid minutely shook hers in the negative. No matter what passed in the chamber today, Sigrid would eventually tell her at any road.

The Healer had quickly become one of her closest confidants, with her good humor and wonderful insight. Willa was a grounding influence where Dis was mason, molding her into the role of Athane. When she was young, Sigrid thought life would be like an afghan: woven in a grand design. But in truth, life turned out to be more like the patchwork quilts-bits and pieces, odds and ends-people, places, things she never expected. Marrying a Dwarf of Erebor might not have been part of her childhood dreams but being in love was, and she was in love every moment of each day.

“Dwarrows cannot claim and Fian will come to understand that.” Dis answered but her eyes shifted slightly away, giving Sigrid a moment of doubt for the first time since she had known Dis. She is hiding something, Sigrid thought.

“That is the only thing you understood from what I just asked you?” Fili’s body was rigid beneath her at what his mother wouldn’t admit. The discussion between mother and son was becoming stiff with antagonism as Fili asked questions that Dis didn’t seem to want to answer, evading points and skirting others.

The Queen wiggled in her husband’s lap as his fingers tightened momentarily on her back. Unsure of his meaning or mood, Sigrid stayed where she was. Dis stared at her, then her gaze took a faraway cast. Her face never changed yet it seemed as if the weight of their problems had settled more upon her near mother’s shoulders than any other person. Willa walked to the table, and poured the Princess a tankard before bringing some watered wine to Sigrid.

“Once it was apparent that the Dwarrowdams were not only abjuring Sigrid as their leader but in some ways trying to actively supplant her, I started looking at the options available.” Dis took a deep draft. “They were very little, unfortunately. The elder ‘dams who have arrived already, stick to their families and are no help. The ones who have come with the spring caravans, want no conflict and meekly fall in Herja’s line. It’s a disaster and without a court with loyal ‘dams as a foundation, Sigrid’s position is weak.”

The doors opened emitting Olrun and Verdandi, newly returned from the stables. They had changed clothes in the interim, donning leather riding skirts and boots with thick wool tunics in forest greens. The Ladies were in high spirits until they saw the occupants of the room as well felt the tautness of the exchange. They stopped dead not far from the doors, hastily bowing to Fili and Sigrid before nodding their heads to Dis. Proper, ever so proper, Sigrid thought as she watched them.

“Come in ladies and refresh yourselves. You are the topic of the conversation so you might as well take a seat.” Sigrid indicated around the room for them to get comfortable.

The disconcerted look remained upon them as the Iron Court females took wine and found a spot near the door to abscond quickly if ejected. While Sigrid disliked the airing of family affairs, it was necessary to understand what these plans of her near mother entailed. These Dwarrowdams were unknown to her, new members of this court that Dis was intent upon forming. Whatever the King’s Mother had to say about the subject, Sigrid could gauge these women to identify what was in store. She trusted her Fili’s mother but the scope of activities behind the scenes of which Sigrid was not privy was beginning to frighten her.

“Plans have been in motion for some time for Olrun to come to the Mountain. She has her own reasons for leaving the Iron Court one of which happens to be our Captain of the Guard.” Dis’ tone was teasing as she gave Olrun a happy look. Fili’s head snapped in Olrun’s direction with a comical crack. “Olrun could not leave without Dain’s permission so a solution of a visit from a young Broadbeam ‘dam of Linnar’s blood was arranged. These ladies will be the basis for Sigrid’s first circle along with Willa if she wishes and maybe Eir eventually.”

“Thanu Men, Skuld is my sister's daughter and is very excited to be here.” Verdandi, a median aged ‘dam who was black of hair spoke up with a smile. Sigrid could see that this ‘dam wasn’t shy, would never play at subterfuge or courtly games of intrigue. “My husband and I took her guardianship from Linnar and brought my daughter, Vigdis, who is a spear maiden and leads her own sounder in the Iron Hills. My Vigdis is most afraid she has in some way caused offense and will remain in her rooms except in the evenings.”

“That isn’t necessary, my Lady. Fian will be taught how inappropriate his actions were, they were not a reflection upon your daughter.” Fili advised the Dwarrowdam as he looked to Sigrid, rubbing her arm in slow sweeps of the hand. “We had thought him young for such teachings but of late he has become a might possessive of …well…”

Fili’s look of confusion would have earned a laugh in other situations. As it was, the ‘dams present found it difficult to restrain themselves and their chuckles. The earnest smiles of Olrun and Verdandi set Sigrid’s heart at rest that there were no immediate ill intentions from these ladies. That went a lot farther than Dis’ assurances.

“So the Lady Olrun is here to try and lay claim to Dwalin?” Sigrid asked with a tired smile and a chuckle from Fili. “It seems like such a large undertaking for so many just to get two people together, especially since Dain might abject to losing his women.”

The look Dis gave Olrun raised the hair on Sigrid’s neck, making her straighten. The silent communication was fraught with speculation as if they measured this situation to see best how to deal with it. The Princess had been very cagey lately, only saying what she must and little else. Fili had seen their understanding as well, staring at his mother with a grimness that chilled Sigrid. Might there be war with Dain if the ‘dams used deceit to exit their Kingdom? What was this woman in the Iron Court?

“No, it isn’t all there is to this.” The Princess took a drink before continuing as she turned back to Fili. “It was my hope that Fian would be matched with Skuld and they marry when he comes of age. He has to marry a Dwarrowdam, my son. It is the only way for him to sit upon the throne undisputed.”

Sigrid looked at Dis for a long moment then to her husband. The confusion that had chased his thoughts was cleared in a flash, with anger taking the lead. Why would her near mother think that Fian would only marry a Dwarrowdam? Sigrid thought with rising vigor, they could never limit who their son loved! Carefully, Fili set her aside on the divan by herself as he rose to confront his Amad.

“Why does he have too? It is not written in stone for it was I would take my War Hammer to it. I would never consent to my son being pushed into marriage with someone who was not his One.” Fili was every inch the Dwarf King but his anger was nothing compared to Sigrid’s. The young Queen stayed on the Divan to await Fili and his reactions. “You knew not if he would even like this ‘dam! Mahal’s forge, he is but three! He will not know for years yet who will be his love!”

Dis stared him down, their gaze locked in battle as two strong willed individuals fought for what they knew was right. Speaking slow, Dis regaled an old tale. “Years ago, far to the south, a High King of Gondor took a woman for love and made her his Queen. She was from here in Rhovanion, her father was a chieftain of his village. Her blood was not Numenorean and therefore not high enough to breed into their line of succession and her son was rejected. A civil war began, called the Kinstrife. Brothers, sons were slain in a lottery of death with the Throne as the ultimate prize.”

“I care not for some faraway Kingdom that fell into despair due to their petty squabbling. My family, my love, those are what matter to me! What is a Dwarf for his One if he presses marriage chains upon their children!?” Fili roared as he shook his head at his mother in disillusionment. “That is sacrilege to everything thing we know. We marry our One or not at all.”

Dis looked at him sadly. “There is nothing that sickens a Kingdom more than its own people fighting against one another. It destroys families to where they know not themselves. I could not risk it here. Fian will need to marry a Dwarrowdam if his throne would be secure, Kings do not always have the luxury of love. His children will need to have more blood of Khazad than he if …”

“You do not know this strife will happen here! If there is more than the blood of Durin the Deathless in their veins, my sons will be the stronger for it!” The King’s braids slapped his face in agitation, stalking parallel to Dis not twenty feet away. “The Dwarrows here might surprise you! They love my sons!”

Rage followed in Fili’s wake as he stalked the length of the room. His robe swished about his boots but always keeping his mother in view as if she would morph into a fell beast if he looked away. Sigrid watched and waited. She agreed with Fili. They had a choice in their marriage, so why not their children? Should Fian or Vian wish to marry a daughter of Man or Elf why should that not be allowed?

“Well, the Erebor Dwarrowdams certainly surprised me. Remember, it is Herja’s sons, Eir’s sons, Goll’s sons that Fian will be against and trying to rule. Those Dwarrowdams will bear the next generation and Herja will make sure that they hate Fian particularly if her cronies marry into the line of Durin! You know this for you are not blind and Herja has made her comments clear on what she thinks of the Princes!” Dis fired back as she swept to the tables laden with food and drink for refreshments, refilling her tankard. “And if Skuld is not to Fian’s liking, apparently Vigdis could be! If he grows and wants neither, Olrun and Dwalin might have a daughter who would be perfect as Queen!”

The King refused to back down, choked with righteous anger at his mother. “You would whore out a ‘dam for you own needs? Is this why you have carted these ‘dams here, wanting Dwalin to marry, so that it might add another Dwarrowdam to the selection pool?”

Sigrid’s gaze immediately snapped to the Dwarrowdams as Willa took a stance to their left. They looked to each other first in shock then Verdandi’s face slowly build in anger of her own. Fili in his frustration had inadvertently called one of them base and inferred the same of her niece. This was spiraling out of control and quickly. Sigrid gathered herself but Olrun spoke loudly from the divan.

“Thanu Men, if I may.” Olrun rose to walk in Fili’s direction, placing a hand upon Verdandi’s arm to stop anything she might say. “Dwalin is my One, my only love. If I would be with him, to have him in my life, I must first defy my king. The Ironfoot would never allow me leave to marry, for he covets that which our laws forbid.” The lady with her strawberry curls bowed her head in shame for a moment only then raised her chin in pride. Olrun didn’t look away from Fili and Sigrid as she spoke. “If I am blessed with a daughter, it will be her choice, no different than any other Dwarrowdam. If Mahal grants me only sons, they will be the Prince’s shield and sword. We would tolerate no force, Thane of Durin’s Folk.”

“I’m not saying..force.. Just.. Fian must be made to understand…” Dis pleaded from her corner as her eldest ignored her completely.

Fili stalked to the divan as Sigrid rose to her feet, turning his back completely to the females. His hands gripped her close, as if she were the only thing in the room that made sense. Truly it did for the world was up and down was south if aught else be true. Fili had been prepared once to marry a Dwarrowdam of Thorin’s choosing, thinking he could never have his One if Kili had his. But life gave as well as cursed with their children’s choices taken due to the love of their parents. It was a perversion of everything Sigrid believed in relationships.

Staring at the Dwarf Princess, Sigrid wondered when this began. Dis had not the foresight to see this situation years ago and what if she had? Would she have still pushed for Sigrid and Fili’s marriage if she could see this as the result? Fili’s sons trapped in marriage because their blood was less than full Dwarf? So many questions on this path of thought that her head began to ache from the strain.

“It was you who taught me this, you and Thorin and Balin… The laws that govern the interaction of a Dwarrow to a Dwarrowdam are absolute. Nori, Ori and Dori are born of a situation where a king married out of expectation, only to find his love later. I would reject this crown and take my family away from here before I allow my son to marry someone that he does not love with his whole heart and soul.” Fili stared her, then shook his head. “I don’t know who you are anymore, Amad.”

 

***************

_Early evening in Helm’s Deep_

Kili leaned back in the oaken tub, the warm water sliding over his bent knees. The brazier on the floor at the other end of the room cut away the chill thanks to it fiery glow. His wet black hair twisted in curled waves on his head, just past his ears to drip behind them and down his neck. Seeing Tauriel had not gone as he had dreamed it might. She wasn’t supposed to have run away like this. But damn the Orc, it had surprised him to see her there as much as Tauriel had been shocked. That there had been no return of feeling from her, no outward sign of love had cut him close to his heart. It hurt, on every level that mattered that she had not come to him right then to touch him or a word at least.

The long miles on the North South road made him appreciate heated water, but being clean didn’t change the fact that he was alone. Laying his head back on the side, Kili wished for a way to reach her. Six years had taken much from both of them, six years ago he might have chased her down for an answer. It had taken the very wise albeit unusual advice from young Bain who kept a tight hold upon his person that had kept them from being tossed out by the door warden. The boy was learning, Kili thought with a smile, and he was forgetting he wasn’t in Erebor.

Keeping his head whilst Dorlad explained to the Lord and others that Kili and Tauriel were old comrades was what had kept their party in the keep tonight. The Men in the hall had argued, angered by her reaction to an unknown and protective of one they considered their own. It was Bain’s voice in his ear, extolling patience to learn the why of things here. He knew that if she was a member of the garrison, much would be expected. Dorlad had confided once Aeldklif had been mollified that the Lady Elf was their master archer, a task that she had taken upon herself.  These Riders trusted her and would stand between the two of them if they thought Kili was a threat. He would wait as instructed, giving her time to come to him under her own steam.

The door opened behind him, the shift in the air temperature would have told him had the hinges not been oiled. Bain and Dorlad joined the Rohir in the hall whilst Kili needed to be alone, to gather himself. Closing his eyes to slits, he regarded the maid as she left some towels and a jug of what he assumed to be beer on the sideboard by his clothes. The young girl was blond of medium height but fair of face. She scooped up his dirty laundry but holding it out to him in question. Hoping that was their way of asking, he nodded with a smile. The girl obviously a servant smiled a cheeky grin before flouncing out the door. Cheeky she may be, the naked Dwarrow thought but not for him. Let the Rohan girl chase down the young Prince of Dale for the night.

Kili felt the smooth glide of leather against his neck from an unseen hand as its mate touched his wet head. Grasping the wrist on reflex at his crown, he tugged the assailant’s arm to overbalance and make them stumble. Seizing the knife he had stowed under his leg, Kili flashed the blade up from the water only to have it knocked away. A dark shadow whipped aside to take residence in a corner on the fringe of the torch light. Only the barest hint of red at the waist told him it was indeed her.

“I remember you having more care with your surroundings. Your back to the door?” Her voice was the same, soft and melodious, slipping over his skin faster than the water to stumble his heart. It was always that way when she was relaxed.

“I didn’t expect company in a bathing chamber. I would not have tried to..” Kili tried looking at her closely in the dim light, but she was deep in the shadows. Far away, too far from him, he thought as his heart recovered its stride to gallop wildly in anticipation.

“That is precisely when you should expect it. When it is least likely.” The elven knack for stillness was unnerving, never more so than right now. Tranquility was not her quality for she was closer to one of Beorn’s bees, endlessly in motion to blur from threat to attack.

Kili’s eyes glistened to take in everything and ignore nothing. His hands shook in the water, trying to pick up his soap and continued washing. It gave him something to focus himself and her lack of overture. If Tauriel could feign disinterest and debate tactics he might as well finish his bath, Kili thought as he scrubbed his legs for it was obvious she wasn’t leaving. There had been no injury to her person but raising a weapon at her in unknowing self-defense, pounded revulsion into his soul with a Troll’s club.

His Elf had come to him so he would be patient and let this unfold as it should. She watched him from her corner, not moving or saying anything. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but a quiet that one finds during a windless snowstorm. Breathing deep was helping, it kept him from foolishness at this point. Wringing out the washcloth, he draped it in front of the tub so that it might dry. Kili pulled the plug at the bottom, letting the water run down the pipes. Putting his sitting stool by the side, he stepped up and over to make it to the steps so he could get out.

He heard a noise behind him from his unexpected visitor as he walked to the sideboard to grab his towel. Whether it was his nudity or the fact that he was completely unashamed by it, he couldn’t say. But after several weeks on the road in the cold rain and clinging mud, Kili was very happy that he wasn’t knee deep in the mire. Tauriel knew what he was doing in this room and still she came, it wasn’t like she had never seen him without clothes. He remembered a time that she had tried to hide every stitch he owned so that he wouldn’t leave Bard’s cellar.

Rubbing the last of the water from his face, he turned to her at last. Kili had brought his court leathers that he had worn in Rivendell to the bath so he might have something to wear back to his room. The young girl had taken away his dirty things to be cleaned so that he might have them again soon should he require them. Kili wasn’t sure how long AeldKlif of Helm’s Deep would give him as a guest but none could stay indefinitely. He pulled on his small clothes first, tying the drawstring before grabbing his pants.

“I wonder why you come to me here.” She had been waiting for him to speak, he knew this. Kili’s mood was pensive, unsure of what to expect from she who held his heart in a leathered fist.

“Of course, I would come. This afternoon was... unexpected.” Tauriel sounded tired as if it were a longer day for her than him.

Yes, he thought, it had been unexpected. If your life has a routine, a daily grind of sorts, anything new can be a shock. In his memories, she was always relaxed, never tense or wane as she was now. Had life become so bitter? Kili could be patient and wait for the answers to this mess of a life they found themselves. All else might stop and fall away from them, he could wait all his life for her.

Kili turned toward her now, seeing Tauriel in the shadow made him ache to pull her into the light. If only he could see that beautiful green of her eyes, if only. “I am sure mine was the last face you expected to see in the Hall today.”

“Again, it was unexpected. A prince of Erebor in the Hornburg was not what anyone would have expected today.” There were notes of amusement in her musical tone, making him remember things that he thought he had lost. A light laugh that bounced around their room in Erebor before she was taken by Dain’s men, the quiet confessions in Bard’s cellar.

It was so difficult to be so close, yet so far. This thin facsimile of civility between them made his teeth ache as he ground back his irritation. _Patience_ … How he wanted to walk forward to take her hand and hold her near. The simple act of brushing a latent hand down her back, to feel her agile lines in his arms once more was a pain unlike the worst war wound. Losing what they had years ago had robbed him of life, now her supposed indifference eviscerated what was left. But from her corner, she gave him no opening, no approach. Unknowing of his reception or the reasons for earlier, it would be a dangerous thing. So he waited and he watched. And he hungered.

“I wonder how you find Rohan, my Prince.” Her frigid calm persevered while her voice lost its amusement. His title spoken from her lips felt more like a slap.

“I find Rohan to be a wide country. My pony will not forgive me this journey for several seasons.” Kili decided to retrieve the dagger on the floor but doing so brought him closer to her hiding spot. “I was never your prince. Not in Mirkwood jails, nor Bard’s house in Laketown, and never in Erebor. I was simply _your_ Kili.”

He stared at her dagger in his hand as Tauriel’s breathing turned ragged off to the right of him. Kili would give her a moment, only one before pressing his suit for her love. He would not surrender his One so lightly now, not after seeing her once more. The wide thorned pit that separated them stretched ever wider. _Patience_ …. He held his anger in check but just barely. He did not understand why she was acting this way, what was the mean of all this?

“You are the brother to the King under the Mountain. Prince Kili of Erebor, the King’s Justice? Bain of Dale stands as your companion. Your rank affords you every curtesy from this keep of which I have pledged my loyalty. Yet, they know not the royal in their mist or the gossips tongues would be wagging.” Her words were tightly controlled, perfectly correct as protocol demands to a visiting royal.

“I am all these things, Tauriel of Rohan. But first, I was _yours_.” Kili turned sharply to see her veiled countenance watching the door. “What might I ask of your lord so that I may have your curtesy? What exchange could Erebor offer that you would look at me as you once did?”

She did not meet his gaze but looked away still, defensive. “You need not ask Lord AeldKlif for my knife and bow. They are freely given. Life has become passingly odd, should a member of Thorin’s company ask for what is already available at his hearth. Friends, your family….”

“I love nothing in this world so well as you, is that not odd?” He loved her so but was unable to reach her now as she drew far away into herself.

“I thought you…I heard there was a royal marriage in Erebor some time ago…with Sigrid, …now you are here with Bain….” Her words stumbled over themselves, falling into the room like untidy ribbons of thought.

“That was Fili. He took Sigrid for his Queen. They have two sons now. Bain is a fond uncle.” Kili stood with stinging awareness that the revelation of his continued love would go unacknowledged. “Is that why you never returned? You thought I could marry another? None compares to you in mine eyes!”

“You never came for me!” She told him a tight voice, as he heard the scraping of something harsh on leather as she yanked off her gloves. “You said you would come for me no matter how separated we were. I could not in the beginning what with..”

She left the sentence unfinished, that he might not yet know of their loss. So much had divided them years ago, yet life had written her story and Kili’s to diverge in the sands of time. It wasn't easy for him to accept this simple truth, because there was a time when their stories were the same, but that was six years and two lifetimes ago. His mother and Fili would not understand this separation. They would tell him quick that if he would transverse the lengths that he had, Kili could step two feet and close the awful distance that estranged them.

“I came, _A’maelamin._ I would keep faith with the one who holds my heart.” Placing the dagger at the edge of the tub, he wondered if she was still his beloved or had she turned her eyes away. Looking down at his hands, Kili clenched them into fists as the frustration and despair banded his soul.

Until he heard her shoe scuffed the floor, he tripped back a step in realization that Tauriel slipped from her corner to stand before him. Fertile tears streaked her face in pretty groves, each chasing the others for the long stretch of her neck. Misery swam in her eyes as the tempest of her sorrow continued unabated. Her hand reached out for his brow, tracing lines that she knew and scars that she didn’t. But the candlelight relieved much more than her anguish, two braids of intricate nature on her right side with golden beads catching the light from their place amongst the plaited strands. Kili’s breath caught at the sight of them, giving him the hope he had dared not wish even as he reached for them.

“You still have them? Now after all this time, you still wear my braids?” His thumb traced the weave and the softness of her hair as she dropped her hand away. Tauriel pushed her wet cheek against his hand as it moved down the silken chain.

She had been spun away from him earlier in the hall, the cowl obscuring that side of her face. Tauriel had left so quickly, Kili had failed to see her betrothal braids or if they swung along her lovely face. After six years, she still considered herself his, even in the face of his possible abandonment.

“Always. I pledged myself that there would be only you and no other, sealing that pledge with my body. It is as true now as it was then.” She pulled from him, out of his hands to the door. ”There are things you do not know, it is complicated..”

“Do not you love me?” He followed her slowly, not wanting her to feel confined in the small room though he would chase her the length of the Deeping Wall. Kili refused to allow it to end here.

“Yes but..” Tauriel began as she braced her hands on the wood frame but he cut her off instead.

“Then there is no issues, no complications for which might stand in our way.” As he reached her, he slid his arms about her lithe frame with a genuine sigh of pleasure or was it hers? She relaxed by degrees in his arms, touching his hands on her leather clad belly. “I know about the baby and your recovery in Rivendell.”

Tauriel recoiled, attempting to move out of his embrace. He knew she wept truly now for her chest heaved with the pressure as she ceased her struggles. The spun brown tunic bagged slightly over the leather bodice that fit close to her shaking body. Laying his cheek upon her back as her tears ran their course, he allowed his thumb to brush her fingers close by. Kili inhaled deep the smell of earth and wind on her clothes mixed with a green scent that was distinctly her. Their love wasn’t over, never to him and neither for her. She loved him, still. Always.

“Morgul poison is foul and I know this. Thorin holds the blame for the death of our child. Were he not dead, I would take my axe to his head!” The anger that had been beating at him in oft times upon the road since Rivendell spewed from his lips. “I would not rest until you were answered for the injury and our loss.”

“You would be called a kinslayer despite Thorin’s crazed air.” She whispered with the barest of hitches in her words, allowing her fingers to trap his against her. Just the touch, so simple gave him the sensation of life long denied to him these last years.

“I care not.” Struggling with his anger even now, Kili continued to breathe her in to steady himself. “More apt title for him than Oakenshield considering he was to blame for the loss of our child.”

What had happened with Thorin was long ago but still its destructive waves eroded their lives even now. A child of them had died, never knowing the love that conceived its existence. That a Dwarf and Elf might come together in friendship was rare, that a child would be born of the two was nigh impossible. Yet, the world and everything in it had fated two such individuals in the same proximity where time and place did show that love was possible to cultivate in almost fallow ground.  

“Did you know you were pregnant that morning?” The question sent a tremor through her body as if she coiled in tension to spring away.

In a shaky word, she answered. “Yes. I guessed a few days previously.”

“Days only?” Her fingers flexed against his, like a startled bird twisting in fear. “Were you afraid to tell me?”

“No but everything was so new between us. Life was so tousled and confused. I wanted to be sure before I told you, then I heard the singing.” Her voice cracked at the memory, the pain of it breaking her composure. “Our son…”

Kili’s arms tightened in response to her agony, voicing his own jagged despair. “A son?”

Mayhap, the stories were true of what Elvish bonds between a mother and child, that they could know each other before the birth and their son would have known love. His mother’s love. She would have wanted to protect him, their child from a monster who was kin. She had been almost docile in her rage, that morning at the Overlook. Two Dwarves would never have been able to bind her so without her consent. They had not the speed to stop her if Tauriel had wanted to flee. But she wouldn’t have left him, she would have come back. Why had he never seen this before now?

“You tried to protect him, our son?” Kili asked but he knew the answer, had seen her fierceness in battle for others who were friends. He could only imagine what she would do for their baby.

“I made a deal with Thorin. If he let me live, I would leave Erebor and never set foot in Dale. I swore on the stars above that I would go or my life was forfeit. I didn’t know about the arrow, that he could..…I wanted to protect our son, to see him born strong like his father.” The tears were in earnest now as her fingers dug into his. “I would never forsake you, my love. Never…I..”

“You couldn’t risk our child and I had sworn I would always come for you.” Kili sighed long to lay his head upon the strong back that had bore the terrible burden of their star crossed love. “Only death will keep me from you, my love.”

Tauriel turned to face him, touching his beard in reverence as his hold tightened upon her body. Kili leaned upon her as if there was no other support anywhere in the world, and she held him as if she would undertake no other task until the world saw fit to part them. Peace fell upon his spirit as she touched her forehead to his. Strong comfort and reassurance bathed his whole being as her hands wandered the contours of his face. Tauriel gasped his name once, whispered a second before a kiss crushed her lips to prevent more. There was nothing in their world nor the stars above that rivaled the homecoming of two lost loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really want to thank everyone again.. My work week becomes hell every 6th week and this was my hell week. I don't usually write because for 7 days straight I am a wasted meat sack that can barely feed herself.. but I tried and what I wrote I hated.. not sure this better but I am posting it because it was closer to what I wanted. The bath scene was actually the 3rd chptr written in this story. I could see Kili & Tauriel’s reunion, the pain, resolution and the love .. and Kili is dripping wet in his underwear.. lol…Its one of the chptrs that I never read through without tearing up.. There were several of those chptrs in a few other stories I have written but there are more in this story it seems.  
> Thank you so much to all who are still reading and commenting.. it aint over yet.. lol.. but the worse (maybe but probably not) is behind them. There is more about the baby and the singing bond of elves... it was both sad and wonderful to write..


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holdin' me closer  
> 'Til our eyes meet  
> You won't ever be alone  
> Wait for me to come home  
> Sorry.. I am totally enamored with Ed Sheeran at the moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is Sigrid/Willa and Tauriel/ Kili..
> 
> Will be some Oin/Willa smut soon... I haven't written any smut in a while, so that means clothes are coming off soon for somebody!

 

_Erebor – Early Evening_

Fili had broken away from the painful discussion in the Water Chamber, taking Sigrid back to their rooms. The horrified looks from Dis, Willa and the other Dwarrowdams brought home the realizations that any decisions about the Princes would come to a halt and quickly. The outbursts of abdication were quiet in light of the sleeping children but she wouldn’t allow him decisions made in rage. After pacing ruts in the floor, Fili decided on a trip to the tavern so he might sit with the Company and let drink loosen their tongues a bit. Those Dwarrows had a finger on the pulse of the Mountain. They would know which way the rocks were sliding.

The Queen wasn’t in favor of this while his emotions still bore such heat but a few pints would help douse some of his anger. A morning’s wooly brain made stale by drink would keep her husband from too many choices that would bring about the downfall of Durin’s folk. Strong drink and talk were well enough but Fili would never make such choices without careful deliberation and meticulous planning. No, he wasn’t stepping down from the Throne tonight.

Sigrid sent the Striplings to their rooms with a fond smile and the next day off. They had been working so hard, a day of rest and relaxation was deserved. The Striplings had bonded with her sons to form a beautiful friendship and trust, giving Sigrid a respite that she had not realized that she needed. Blain and Nail had never treated her sons as less nor had any Dwarrows that she knew. It was Herja and her ilk that stirred a few off kilter and made the group look worse for it.

Sigrid loved her sons completely and in her own way, Dis did as well. Hearing the Dwarrowdam speak of her children as endangered because of the Mannish blood in their veins had filled her with a quiet fury. Her sons were beautiful in her eyes, the physical evidence of two people who desperately loved each other. Her children would find their own path with a helping hand here and there but no more. It was their lives and no one would live it for them. Sitting back in her chair, Sigrid waited for her near mother to come and find her. She had no doubt that Dis would come, seeing as her near daughter as the most reasonable of the pair tonight. Or so the Princess might erroneously think.

The Water Chamber and the Throne Room were official places, areas where she and Fili would rule from their seats of eminence. But the Royal Hall should be theirs alone, a private space to believe in the illusion of normalcy. Try as she could, the Dwarrows came to them often here as if their quarters were but an extension of the crown. The fact that she knew Dis would come and intrude into their haven, annoyed the young Queen further.

Closing her eyes in despair, Sigrid wondered at the course of her life. She had lived like an ordinary woman, born to a solitary life and expecting to die in it. The fates and Gods have other plans and some women cannot live an ordinary life. Sometimes, the extraordinary happens. A bridge was built between two hearts that might have been lonely while never completely alone. The foundations hard and solid as if poured by Mahal himself to stand the test of whatever Man or Dwarf might rend. Sigrid wanted that same rush for her children, to know love in any form with any person and have that loved returned.

A knock at the door interrupted her wayward thoughts, startling her back to the present. Rubbing a hand over her distended belly, Sigrid stuffed her feet underneath her. “Come!”

The door opened but it wasn’t Dis in the frame but Willa. “May I?” The Healer asked in trepidation.

Confused, Sigrid waved her inside the door. “I had thought you would be Dis.”

“Oh, she wanted to come. But I convinced her to allow me instead.” The smile was slight but still there. She had to know Sigrid was not of a mood to handle much banter now.

Indicating to another chair, Willa took the seat with a grimace. Sigrid knew that the healers own furniture in Dale was well padded, making for a softer base for wearied bones. There had been cushions in the Royal chambers once for Sigrid had preferred pillows to buffer wood of the straight back chairs. Fili would toss them out of the way, favoring what he had known all of his life to the change. Now the floor before the fire was littered with a fluffered mound of stuffed material that was well on the way to being a fire hazard.

“Do not think that the Princess doesn’t love you sons. Or wish that the King married another.” Willa started in a low tone. “She wants to do what she can for Fian.”

Willa was in sincere earnest, and Sigrid believed her. Dis would advocate strongly for Fian to marry against his heart’s wish, whether it was right or wrong. It might stave off any potential rivals that the Dwarrowdams might spawn, but if the cost of keeping the throne was her son’s happiness, it was simply too high to pay. Until Dis had talked about rivals, Sigrid had not realized just how seriously her near mother saw this danger from Herja. But it was wrong, it was so very wrong to teach her sons to marry out of expectation and not love.

“Are you saying that Dis wouldn’t have paraded Dwarf women from the Iron Hills up the causeway if Fili had not loved me in the first place?” Sigrid shot back, angry at the thought of her love marrying another. “It was Dis who made our marriage possible. Many at the time were against our marriage.”

“I cannot say, madam. I can just say that biracial children are not treated well by other Dwarf tribes.” The tone changed, drawing Sigrid’s gaze. “As if it were the children’s fault that they were born.”

“You know this because of your own Dwarf blood?” The Queen asked gently, soothingly as the healer flinched in response the question.

“I didn’t know if you were aware, my Queen.” Willa looked down at her fingers as if they suddenly held the answers to questions only the Gods could understand.

“The Walls of Lake Town were thin. There were few secrets and less true nobility amongst gossip mongers.” The whispers were thick on some of the quays about Willa when she had moved back to the Lake fifteen years previously when her husband died. None of it was very kind.

The Healer’s treatment of the mixed children in Dale made sense not only that she would want good homes for them but because Willa had been one of those children once. Now, she worked to make their lives easier than what they could have been otherwise. Sigrid felt deep sadness that a people of their realm where judged another based their blood and race rather than the integrity of their lives.

“Not surprised. My Da moved us to Lake town after my mam died in birthing. My brother had a beard from a young age. It started rumors.” She looked up then but smiled. “He’d tell others he grew into his face faster than his body. I married Lee when I was a still a girl and moved to a farmstead. Life’s odd in the circles it puts in our lives, now I’m claiming a Dwarf. None could have seen this coming.”

The two women shared a chuckle as the fire hissed and popped when the sap in the log heated. Willa had a taller height than a Dwarf but Sigrid could tell that her nose was more prominent with a flatter jaw than one sees on a woman. She was still a handsome, large boned with a bright smile and blond hair, attributes that had caught the bachelor Oin’s eye against all odds.

“Was your childhood so bad, Willa?”

It might have been the wrong question to ask but there were precious little others who could answer it. Sigrid worried that her boys would encounter worse than a few snubs from snotty women especially if they travelled to other regions. She could not be there to protect them always, granted she would be lucky to see her first grandchild. But their safety would be her main concern, even after she passed from this world to the next.

“It was my childhood. The good and the bad. I am not defined by it or I would never have looked to Oin or claimed him as my own.” She smiled with delight for Oin made her happier than she had been in many years.  

Sigrid wouldn’t press further. The years her friend had left with the Dwarven healer might be more equal for them with her at a median age while Oin was entering his retirement years. Their love was special to Sigrid for it gave her the promise that there were others who would love a Dwarrow as she had. Tauriel, an Elf of Mirkwood, had looked upon Kili with love that he returned, a most improbable connection. Even now he raced through Arda for his lost love.

Things here were ever changing, nothing fixed nor stable. Which brought back another point of that begged discussion. Sigrid had a feeling and decided to follow it on its course. Her feelings had not lead her astray so far and hopefully not at this session. She had refrained from ever opening the jar of worms that contained Willa’s past, preferring to leave the woman her privacy but now that lid was removed or would have been soon.

“The Iron Court ‘dams. Do you know them?” With so few Dwarven tribes in this part of the world, it was possible that there was something that the Healer would know about these females.

Willa nodded but looked into the fire as she spoke. It was difficult, pushing up Sigrid’s misery for the questions. “They are kin to me. My mam’s people.”

Seeing her pain, Sigrid let it go but travelled a different road. “How much do they know of the Herja problem?”

Willa sighed. “Much. The Princess has appraised them, moreover I believe them when they say they have ideas to solve this issue.”

Ms. Wheat briefly outlined the proposition the ladies had discussed earlier. The ideas of letting Herja escape appealed if it were in a controlled situation. Sigrid lay her head on fist, thinking forward into the problem. A Dwarf that was loyal would have to be at her door that night to allow her escape but also warn the rest of Herja’s destination. If they could ensure that the nasty Dwarrowdam ended up in the Stoor’s quarters, her reputation would be in tatters and viciously disgraced before her peers. The Hobbits were kindly, giving Sigrid doubt about sending that Dwarrowdam into their mist as a bride. A few moments of wrangling, she made her choice between what was right and what was necessary.

Sigrid raised her head to look at Willa. “Allow it. Let it all be done. If we are to have peace again, we must prepare to get our hands dirty.”

The pain of a breaking heart is strong enough, cruel enough to single one's purpose and direct the attention. As Athane, her heart could break for these Dwarves of the Mountain but as a mother, it would shatter for her family. A destroyed soul was a benefit to no one, least of all her boys. So, Sigrid would learn to smile at her enemies, grin whilst she disposed of them too.

“But Sigrid…” Willa began, alarmed that the Queen could agree with such a plan.

Herja was ice with cold driven need for the power the Queen held. She would see Sigrid at the bottom of the Long Lake before surrendering her ambition. A Queen had to possess the courage to walk out of light and dwell in the dark as some clandestines were essential for survival. Fili could never know the how of it, only the endgame.

“No. We must never flinch from acts of ruthlessness that will safeguard our loved ones and our Kingdom. Dis has brought these women here, so I think it is time we know what our new allies can do.”

 

************

_Rohan - Early Evening_

They left the bathing chamber after Kili hastily dressed, Tauriel taking the quiet circular route to her quarters at a lower level. None were about the garrison, but in the hall feasting and drinking themselves senseless. Questions would be asked if it were known she entertained him in her chambers, questions she didn’t know how to answer yet. There was still much to be said between them, so much to settle. Kili loved her, had always loved her. There was nothing she wanted more in this world than to be by his side, now and forever.

The fears of seeing Kili, of meeting rejection based upon rumor had darkened her thoughts for too long. Bain’s presence earlier had been a confirmation of sorts that her love had married another, that he had forsaken her. When she questioned the Men of the Eored who had escorted them into the Keep advised that there were no women with them, Tauriel sought him to find the reason for his being here in Rohan. The thought that he was just passing by entered her mind that two Princes upon the road would have business at Edoras was plausible. Hearing the words from his lips that he had come for her, that he was still her’s broke the hardened shell that smothered her _Fea_.

Her quarters were small, held previously by an elderly herald. Now the singular billet was made smaller by his company as his personality expanded into the confines. Quivers full of arrows hung from pegs in the wall with spare scabbards that held Rohirric swords. Kili walked through the room with interest as she discarded her vestments, picking up items only after asking for permission. He had never seen her cubicle in Mirkwood to assess her preferences so this was a completely new experience. Having Kili here in her place filled her with delight and yet he saw more than she wanted, more than she could bear. She felt naked, raw under his intense scrutiny of her domicile that told so much of her life.

The Elven bow that Elrond had gifted along with her own from Mirkwood. The scrolled knobbed short sword, another gift, that was the envy of the garrison for its strength and craftsmanship. A simple bed for what sleep she could find in her grief across from a wardrobe that held her meager clothes. She wanted none of the fineries that the Ladies of the Keep begged, just a few warm clocks only and a good bow. This room had seen her grow static with the loss of emotional activity, these four walls might have seen her fade. The wardrobe in the corner would bear its dispassionate testimony to a barren reality. All these ornaments and furnishings had been her companions through these years, the silent witnesses to her struggle. The spare empty life of a lonely Elf that wanted nothing save her love to fill it again.

The path Kili took was slow, staring at this and that. It lead him to the stylized wardrobe where she saw a smile tug at his lips for passing it by for the chair of Rohirric artistry. Wide and sturdy, it could hold a Man’s weight with curved arms of racing steeds for beauty. It had been a gift from the Lady Alfgivia who happened upon her rooms a year past. When he rounded towards her position by the bed, Tauriel couldn’t make his expression when stopped before her.

His hands reached for her but hesitated, unsure of their welcome. “I have dreamed of this so many times. Do not send me from you tonight.”

“No.” She whispered. “Not this night nor any other.”

Tauriel took his hands in her own, pulling him that last step into her arms. She had dreamed of him as well, longed for him each night as she stared at the stars. For truth, her _Fea_ was nigh starved for him, cadaverous and thin as it awoke from hibernation. The urgency of contact, the power of it, stole her breath. In that instant, Tauriel was swept up by the need to examine him, to reach out and press flesh to flesh, her forehead to his; to close her hand on his chest so she could feel the warmth and vigor beneath the tunic. She wanted to know without question he was living, breathing, and hers.

Maybe, the Valar might decree that two broken people find each other again to create something whole. His heart was huge, though life had bruised it to a pulp. It kept pumping, kept going long past endurance for nothing beats a Dwarf’s stubborn nature. Yet, it had been his gentle spirit that captured hers, with adamantine resolve and alien magnetism. Caught she had been and wanted nothing more than to be with him. They fell in love, despite huge differences and insurmountable odds, and once they did, something rare and beautiful was created.

Winding her fingers in his hair, she sighed long but smiled too. Tauriel was happy, life had come full circle with Kili in her arms. Releasing him if only to remove her bodice and boots had taken effort. She drew the Dwarf into her bed, never wishing to let him go. They spoke in hushed whispers, afraid that all would be lost if they were too exuberant. Their conversation wove a tapestry of light humor and distant things, his life and hers as interlocking threads join once more. With his arms around her and his head upon her bicep, they drifted to sleep as the dark descended for the stars to shine again. Tauriel dreamed not of her love, but death and desolation.

 

_Smoke was choking the survivors as fire burned the last of the ramshackle town to the water line. Only a few blackened splinters jutted towards the overcast sky like diseased fingers of supplicants praying before unforgiving gods. The unfortunates who had not escaped in time bobbed in the waves beside housewares and broken wood. Bodies in the shallows were dragged from the lake to the shore by those who were still on their feet. A tall woman with frizzled blond hair checked many before organizing them to specific areas for treatment or burial._

_The Dwarves had helped as much as they were able but time was slipping away from them. From them all. The one with the odd hat called Bofur found a boat that would hold them as they planned to get to the Mountain with all speed. There was no doubt that Thorin and the rest of the company had gained the Erebor but whether they lived was in doubt. There was grumbling in groups of bedraggled people that the Dwarves were to blame for their misery. They may look to an easy target in the four that were readily at hand than the ones who unleashed their misery._

_Long tendrils of steam rolled from the lake’s surface where Smaug had plunged after his death fall. The black arrow had fired true at the clipped scale of the beast. The water temperature of the lake had risen but in the chilled air would not last as the Dragon’s body cooled in the dark depths. A fire drake finding his rest at the cold bottom seemed very fitting to Tauriel, only less so if he could be harvested to the benefit of all._

_The Elf maid looked about them at the destruction of so many lives. Little Tilda clung to her side, crying softly. Had the treasure hoard been so tempting to ruin so many? Thorin Oakenshield had awoken the Dragon but the Dragon had come for Laketown unless the King under the Mountain had met his fate. It was heartbreaking to Tauriel as she reached forward to help an older woman drag the body of a young girl to the water’s edge. The face was scorched away to reveal the white bone of a small skull. This might have been Tilda…Sigrid, Tauriel thought almost angry at the thought of losing the girls to a roasted hell._

_“Da!” Sigrid screamed as she sprinted around the wreckage with Bain right behind her. Kili came to stand beside her, rubbing Tilda’s head in comfort._

_The Bowman had lived, enduring the destruction to return to his family. Cheers from the assembly followed him as he shook hands but made progress to his children who stood outside the throng. Sooted and wet, he was the hero of Laketown for which they would praise him to the heavens. Bedraggled in tattered clothes, the family clutched themselves together, thankful to be alive. It was no small feat to kill a dragon, especially one so long lived as Smaug. They had survived the bad times, hopefully their future would be brighter._

_“It’s time to go.” Kili said quietly as Tauriel nodded. With Bard back, they could no longer delay._

_Taking Tilda’s hand, Tauriel walked with her through the crowds to Bard as he managed the last few feet to stand before them. Tilda let go to run to her father, grabbing him around the waist. He hoisted the small child in the air to hug her close but his eyes were on Tauriel and he smiled his thanks. His family was alive for the Dwarves had walked through the flames to make it so with an Elf towing them them to shore. But other Dwarves had brought the wroth of the beast in the beginning._

_“We must leave.” Tauriel told him as she gestured to her heart in farewell. The children had let her into the circle of their lives this week, it made the departure difficult to bare._

_Bard nodded to her but looked over her right shoulder as a niggle of feeling crossed over her neck. She knew that sensation well after so many hundreds of years. She looked to Kili quickly only to find him standing in front of the boat with a knife in his hand. He too, stared behind her._

_“My Lord Legolas.” Tauriel straightened her back for what was to come. Mellon would not take this well._

_“My father is gathering his army.” Legolas spoke with a harshness but still she did not turn away from Kili to look at the Elf prince. “Bid your Dwarf farewell. We are needed elsewhere.”_

_“I go with them to the Mountain, my Lord.” It was a simple thing to defy him as she had defied his father. The unbreakable bonds that once held her to Mirkwood had thinned down to linen strings in the wake of her pledge._

_Legolas came to stand behind her now but she had no fear of him. “You think that what you feel for that Dwarf is real? It is not!”_

_Tauriel whirled around to face her prince, angry at him for the first time in their long lives. “If it is not real, why did it hurt so at thought of his leaving? It was fear for his life that drove me from my home, that he might not survive the poison. If it was not real, I could have stayed in the forest and let him die! I will not forsake him!”_

_He matched her in anger as he took a step towards her. “He will die one day, then where will you be? Alone to fade in a world that does not want you there!”_

_“I cannot hide what I feel. Love is a gift.” Tauriel touched her Prince’s hand in parting sadness. “When he passes, I will be there. For I would rather cast my Fea into the Starlight than live all the ages of this world without him.”_

_Kili, so constant and solid, came to stand behind her. Though he didn’t touch her, Tauriel felt him so keenly as the glow in her body brighten at his nearness. It was as if he had held her in his arms, her Fea was so attuned to him now, if only to ease this moment. It would be always thus now that they had sealed. For an Elf to cast away her gift of Immortality for a mortal, for love, was not a light or airy decision. The strength of her love would be the doom that killed her in the end._

_“I am not Sindarin, my lord. As a Silvan, there is no ship that will bear me hence.” She told him quietly but truth only angered him. Legolas turned away in cold resignation, leaving her at the shore._

_Seeing her once friend and hunting partner take his leave, Tauriel hoped that they might meet again one day if not as friends than as polite strangers. It was a hard thing that gave her doubts as the Dwarves began to yell for Kili to hurry up. Turning back to him as tears blurred her vision, Tauriel felt his fingers entwine with hers as she followed him to the boat. The others made no mention of her presence at Kili’s side, having seen that they could not be divided._

_She took a paddle from Oin the healer as they shoved off into the lake._

 

So many memories, Tauriel thought as she sleepily looked down at the Dwarf at her side. He slept on, holding her close. While the bed was made for a large Man to be comfortable, it seemed to hold a slim Elf and stout Dwarf without issue. In the dark, she noticed the details of his profile that she had missed earlier. The light scaring at the temple to couple with a rent at his nose due to a break. His beard was thicker now than it had been, she found as she combed her fingers through the ruff at his cheek. He had trimmed it down for a bow’s string can be unforgiving.

Kili murmured her name in his sleep, exhaling it as he snuffled into her. He had not grown taller in five years though neither had she. Curling her body around his like she used too so long ago, Tauriel felt a contentment she had dared not hope. Her world in the space of a day had erupted in shades of color where once there had been muted, stark feelings. Running her fingers along the short strains of his hair, she hummed softly an Elvish tune as she scratched the base of his head. The natural heat of his body soaked into her skin as she allowed a smile to tease at her lips.

“Have you finally marked me as your own, Amralime?” He spoke softly against her shoulder, before looking up at her with a smile of his own.

“I would that you have worn the braids as well in our long absence from each other. How do I not know there isn’t a harem of Dwarrowdams awaiting your return in Erebor? You had to shave your head so they would not feel slighted because you lack the hair for all of their plaits.” The smile stayed in place but her eyes grew ferocious at the idea of a female touching him.

“I cannot braid my hair until you do it first. It is the Dwarrowdam that claims the Dwarrow, though I might have done it a bit backwards.” Kili’s grin became sheepish as he pulled her closer. “I would have cut off the hand of a ‘dam that tried to force a claim upon me. Consequences or not!”

“You would have stood in line. You are mine and I will not lose you now that you have found me.” His body was warm against her, the smell of him in her nose. If it took a braid to claim him, she would tie up every strand on his body.

His breath heated her chest as his hands skimmed her back and hips. He wasn’t shy in his touching but it was more of a grounding than amorous. Placing a kiss on his brow before rubbing her nose along the small curls of his scalp, she breathed deep his scent into her lungs as she tightened her arms around him. Tauriel was like a falling star who has finally found her place next to another in a bright constellation, sparkling the night sky.

She would go to speak with Bain but it would wait until the sunrise for this night she wished to be close to Kili, to feel his body under her hands and know he was real. The knots that had bound her to the pain of that horrible day and the loss of her love each day hence began to release slowly leaving behind the calm elation. It had been a comfort, long ago, to clutch him to her as he slept. The sensation of his furry self would allow her transition into sleep faster than anything ever could. Tauriel never wanted to leave this bed, just lay here with him until the end of their days.

Tauriel shifted her legs to twine with his in a tighter embrace. The closer they were the more her _Fea_ bloomed in the heat of his skin, stretching out in renewed elasticity. The pulse of life was captivating, more so to the fact that she was no longer alone, jailed in her melancholy. Like all strong people, she suffered always a measure of loneliness; she was a marginal outsider to this host, a secret wanderer of the grasslands. Now, she wanted to meet each dawn and explore every sunrise, to know this world but only with him at her side.

“What service do you owe to Lord Aeldklif?” Tauriel smiled as his beard prickled through the thin tunic she had kept on earlier.

Once, she had giggled like an Elfling at the feel of the course facial hair upon her body. There had been a vocal debate if she laughed at him singly or his attempt at lovemaking. The wrestling match that had ensued had been quite boisterous, both laughing as they wiggled and turned. Naked as babes they had been at the time so the ending had been most pleasurable.

“I am a rider for one of the Eoreds and teach archery as well as Westron. Nothing more.” Horses here were powerfully bred, requiring much skill to handle. The mare that had chosen her as a rider was larger than some of its herdmates.

“hmmm.. “ His breath rolled over her skin, drawing more tears that she had assumed had been long shed at their reunion. Had she gone to the hamlet this afternoon she would have missed him and this enchanted moment.

He felt her shiver under his hands, but knew it wasn’t desire. The broken pieces of her mind and soul were mending under his hands, a gradual blending of rough edges. Their life together might never be what might had been years ago, nothing could be after so much hurt. Yet, she loved him and knew that he loved her. Tauriel clinched him tight at the thought of missing moments such as this in his arms and he in hers.

“Do not cry, please?” Kili whispered in the dark. “Else I think you are not glad of my presence in your bed, Ghivashel.”

She drew a shaky breath at his attempted banter. “I snuck you into _my_ bed this time. Discretion is still required.”

“I didn’t have to sneak you into mine at Erebor! We were so far from the others, they never knew.” He groused at her as she looked down at his outline upon her blankets.

“And yet I was found in the corridors.” She whispered against his curls, kissing their springform. The words were thoughtless, ill timed but one of the things he did not know and she couldn’t forget.

Tauriel pushed aside the memory with difficulty, it was what happened after that mattered. Thorin and his madness, the cold shock of the Morgul arrow. She could still remember the song of the child they had lost. A quiet tune really, as the babe was just beginning his life. A few emotions that could translate from the humming she felt low in her belly. Those mornings where the song was curious of her and Kili, of his parents and the life he would have. Then the song took a fearful beat as the Morgul poison spread, chilling the nerve endings to coat her in its slime. The intense pain of her child’s pealing discord had almost driven her mad, knowing he was under attack inside the well of her body with no way to defend the fragile life she already loved. Then the silence. The stillness of that moment had broken her mind, almost splintering her _Fea_.

“Those who touched you, they live no longer.” His harsh anger filled the room, matched only by Tauriel’s trepidation at his words.

The Dwarrows had belonged to Dain and if Kili had taken their lives, what had been the result? She had fought them with hands and feet, but no on real intent to harm. She could not, for their deaths would come back to Kili in some way and that Tauriel wouldn’t allow. Cornered and scared of a blow to their child, she had surrendered to them to be brought before Thorin. Dain with his pompous air had wanted her head for the braids at her cheek but the Oakenshield demanded her promise instead.

“And Dain?” She asked it quietly but wondered if he had tracked the Iron Dwarves to their low hills to the North. Did the Ironfoot still live as well?

“Dain lives but only because he kept his hands to himself.” Tension invaded her lover as the horrible day revisited them both. She pushed the memories aside else it would drown her as surely as a riptide would roll Kili away

The grip Kili had on her hips wasn’t kind but neither were his thoughts. Pain leaves a stronger footprint in the memory than any other sensation save pleasure. With this in mind, Tauriel pulled back his head to kiss him lightly. Her lips smattering pecks and brushes up his nose to his brow drew him from those thoughts back to the present with her. In his eyes, she saw the Dwarf that took her heart with his gentle smiles and funny stories, the one she gave her heart. She knew that he still held it as if it were the most treasured thing.

“Will you grow your hair again?” Tauriel whispered against his scalp, holding him tightly. A change of subject would be best for them both. “As I am yours, I would have you as my own.”

“I cut my hair and beard in mourning these long years for what I have lost since we parted. I cut it now to mourn our child.” He spoke quietly, running a hand down her cheek to rest at her neck. Taking her hand, he placed it upon his chest as he continued. “I shall not cut it again for I would wear your braids with pride, any construction you see fit to gift me. Elven or Dwarf, I care not. All will know that this Dwarrow belongs to you. I live for you, love you only.”

On his face was an expression of unconditional love. Melting, raw, unbridled love, the kind a person dies for, sacrifices and suffers to keep. It was the love she too felt that would allow no boundaries, nothing to prevent him from being completely and utterly hers. Tauriel could see that what they had in the beginning had been just that, a beginning. Time would have encapsulated them to being one heart, one love and one _Fea_.

A faint hollow sounded beyond her door, out in the passageway that circled her room. The clanked step told her that they were armored feet, possibly in battle gear that stomped ever closer to her door. Tauriel tensed at the noise, concerned and yet annoyed if the intruder on her time was on his own personal business. Slipping from Kili’s embrace, she walked to the door with silent feet. The guard outside was thinking, balancing his bulk from one foot to the other due to indecision. The minutes stretched as the visitor neither left nor made any attempt at contact.

Kili tripped from the bed as well, taking a stance by the bed. Tauriel knew him instantly in this darkness, her _Fea_ twinkling merrily at being so near him again. Had not her soul poured forth it’s harmony, his posture and size marked him different from others of his race. It was more than just the statistics and generalities. Tauriel knew, without knowing why, that she would always know him at a glance in a crowded room, like his voice earlier in Aeldklif’s chamber. She would be drawn to him, seek him out to be near him, her _Fea_ would allow nothing less. How had she lived so long without this feeling of completion? The answer cracked her attention as a mailed fist crashed upon her door.

Tauriel had been living a half life, her _Fea_ empty of him. But Kili was the rain upon her withered soul, now it flowered as if the vernal tide was filling a dry desert into a lush garden. By all Elven rites, he was her husband, her mate to whom she had bound her soul with euphoria.  As the splendid dawn bids the dark goodbye, his face was the beacon for her, a path to find her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMGs.. I know that you guys are getting sick of my cliffhangers.. but it really seemed like the best place to stop… Tauriel’s POV is more linear because I see her that way. . I wrote this with Elves as being very musical and they would have a musical connection with their children. I did some cutting on the miscarriage because I think I was starting to get a little too in depth and it affected my outlook. It comes up later but that part isn’t written and I am still thinking on how far I want to go. I have never had a miscarriage but I think every mother has a connection to their child in utero. To lose a child is a terrible thing..I can understand the care involved during Elvish pregnancies, having children only during times of peace would make sense to minimize the probability of miscarriage or stillbirth.   
> It will be late Monday night before there is another update..Chptr 34 still needs some tweaking. The emotion is getting dialed back in the next chapter before something else happens.. Damn Werrmund


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes on the rarest nights  
> comes the vision calm and clear,  
> gleaming with unearthly lights  
> on our path of doubt and fear.  
> Winds from that far land are blown, whispering with secret breath--  
> hope that plays a tune alone,  
> love that conquers pain and death.
> 
> ~ Ivor Novello - Land of Might Have Been ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chpter
> 
> Tauriel/ Kili 
> 
> Willa the Healer with Olrun then with Oin...

_Middle of the Night in Rohan_

“1 Lady Min,” the guard began in a rush, only to stop when he saw Kili standing behind Tauriel in her own quarters. “2 Thad er ástand sem krefst thess ad thú og Dwarf. Ég var bedinn um ad finna hann eins og heilbrigður. Thetta hefdi ekki verid stadurinn sem ég myndi leita.”

Tauriel looked sharply at the soldier. “3 Hann og ég hef thekkst lengi ádur en ég kom hingad. Fyrirtaeid sem ég halda er mín eigin mál.”

The Rohir’s attention dropped to the floor even as his stance straightened. Tauriel looked over her shoulder to Kili with an eyebrow raised in question. She translated quietly, explaining that there was a need for them both, but nothing beyond just that. Kili shrugged with a half hearted expression as he grabbed his gambeson and Orcrist’s sheath. His Elf spun from the door, leaving it open, despite the so called improprieties of her being alone with a male and a Dwarf at that. He had been seen, no use closing the barn door now that the horse had escaped. Her folded leather vest was donned quickly over her loose tunic as she grabbed her belt and the rest of her weapons. Taking their cloaks, the pair hurried behind the retreating guard, anxious to uncover the reason for his anxiety.

The corridor wasn’t empty as Kili would have thought, soldiers milling back and forth between rooms. The fact that some of the soldiers stared at him in surprise then looking to his love had Kili restraining a smile of pleasure. The feasting must be over and some were trying to grab sleep before whatever their duties required of them on the morrow. Tauriel didn’t question the Man on the purpose for seeking her or him so late in the evening. Kili bit back his exasperation at the interruption, knowing that the situation was of importance. However, it still rankled that they were drawn away from their privacy. He felt as if they were making progress, love renewed and pledges avowed.

He had not paid so close attention to the route earlier when led to his bathing room, even less when he followed Tauriel to her rooms. The Keep was a massive entity, larger than one knew at first glance from the valley floor. The warren of corridors was meant to confuse an enemy who might breach the Hornburg, while Kili was not a foe, he was still thoroughly confused. Tauriel followed unerringly, until arriving in the open air as they reached the inner Bailey. He could see where he was in position the gates yet he chased after Tauriel who took a shortcut passed the main columned entrance to the Keep and Aeldklif’s Hall.

Once the gates where in sight, the soldier let loose a whistle to the watch on the surround who sent it along to the guards posted at the Deeping Wall. She drew her cloak about herself, reminding Kili to do the same. Having his hands free would be more of a benefit than not since he had no idea of what they were facing outside in the night’s veil. As he tucked the long sword into his belt, the torch light flickered across the thick gates, making the equine carvings come alive in the glowing warmth. The craftsmanship was beautiful, almost as good as a Dwarf’s. Each surface was immortalized with Men and Horses together and in battle. Scene after scene marched up the arched wood as if a long story was being told in living pictures. Every race has a craft that is unique to them but as Kili had found with the Elves, artistry is not held solely to one ethnicity.

Tauriel went through the inner door with no more thought but sent a phrase or two after her shoulder in Rohirric as she gained the causeway. The language used was familiar as if the dialect was a cousin of Weston. Kili supposed as he followed that language was like any living thing, changing with its exposure to new elements. Rohan had natural barriers to the rest of Middle Earth, its culture was largely intact without the outside influence of continuous trade or migration. No doubt, it would be the same in another age if these people never ventured into other regions. The exposure of an Elf lass in their midst must have been a new concept for them, that she was a warrior must have been shocking.

The night was passing further still as they stood outside the doors with the causeway curving out like a long dragon’s tail into the valley proper. Kili could see nothing amiss at first, the horses feeding in the troughs to walk out of the open in twos and threes near Helm’s Dike. A sudden high pitched scream erupted from the left under the curvature of the long ramp to the gates. Kili sighed with a long gust, knowing the sound and who it belonged too. _Warg_.

“4 Ég er svo leitt ad trufla, en thar sem thetta felur í sér Flandir, Master hestsins hélt ad thú myndi vera metin.” The guard was gushing his words now in a hasty effort to keep up with the swift walking Elf. Kili himself was jogging at this point.

“Kili, something is wrong with my horse. She is peculiar in that she allows few to get too close. That is why I was called yet I know not why you are here.” Turning to the soldier, Tauriel asked quietly as another blast of equine rage echoed through the valley. “5 Hvers vegna varDwarfminnbedid? “

“6 Hesturhans erad truflahjörd.“

Kili knew exactly why he had been called, to handle his beast. He didn’t wait for her to translate for him, he had caught the soldier’s sidelong look. Plus, the angry blast that probably still echoed in the far reach was also another indicator. Warg was a petty animal, temperamental when others might have been passive. He had no fear of larger beasts, doing his own fighting with Isen in the High Pass on the way to Rivendell. The proximity of other horses would have annoyed the Piebald into a challenge if for no other reason that assert dominance as a stallion, even a small one in comparison. Oh yes, the stones were coming off as soon as possible.

“7 Thakka Master Weland fyrir athygli hans. Ég mun maeta honum eftir ad ég hef séd Flandir.” Tauriel’s voice held authority as she scanned the milling horses in the dark. Kili had no doubt she would find the animal faster than he.

His Elf danced in a lilting run down the stone path, looking over her shoulder for him as she went. The causeway was a good distance from the canyon floor, built up to be the only line of entry for the massive stone keep. Stopping midway, Tauriel quietly pointed out aspects of the architecture that he had missed that morning. Wide enough for a small cart or two Riders in line, the grade wasn’t steep or uncomfortable but long enough to give the archers at the surround time for a volley and pick off the attackers. In the pitched dark, he could see the inky blue of the Deeping Stream that ribboned the Hornrock as a shallow moat of additional fortification. Helm’s Deep was an impregnable citadel built at a time when such was needed in a world of gathering shadows.

The pits he had spied at their entrance to the canyon he could understand their significance now. Tauriel whispered when he stepped to her side that each night, thick tuffs of grass were tied and tossed into different pits along with moss and strange dried blocks that were dug from a mire to the west near the River Isen. Forests were not as plentiful here as it was to the north, each felled tree had purpose before an axe touched the bark. Alternatives were encouraged and used in the outer fringes of the Kingdom while the excess went to Edoras. These pits burned all night as a source of heat for the horses but also lighted security against any foe who might try to slither into their mist.

A bellow from his pony at the left yanked his attention to the canyon floor. The clash of hooves on rock and panicked shout from Men was a sign of the piebald’s location, as he set off to find the beast that taunted his master in his waking moments and bothered his sleep. Tauriel leapt from the path at the curve, dropping some six feet onto shifting sand and reedy grass. Kili followed but landing less steady than she, chasing the red banner of her hair that wiped behind her as she jogged to the stream that hugged the rock.

It was the beastly pony, alright.

Warg trotted back and forth before a dark stallion who pawed the ground in agitation. A large animal, it stood taller than twice his height, verily Kili had a very nice view of his underbelly. The Herd’s Stallion if he had a guess, snorting at Warg as he swished his tail back and forth. Two Men who immediately started sputtering to Tauriel in Rohirric, tried again and again to put a line around the big stallion’s neck only to be shaken off. The large Gray would dart left and then right, trying to get around Warg only to come up against Pony who reared off to lunge with bared teeth.

Behind them a dark horse moved to the manger to feed, completely unmoved by the spectacle of two horses in combat. Not as large as the Herd Stallion, it was still larger than Warg or Kili for that matter. The coat was not distinguishable in the dim light only that it was darker than the ground below. Kili took a stance beside his love as the Pony trumpeted another challenge to the Stallion, rearing to pound the ground with his smaller hooves. Tauriel laughed at him before whistling low in the direction of the feeding horse.

Brown, he thought as the horse lifted his head, flicking ears to catch the sound and nickered in welcome. It left the manger, trotting slowly towards them with a lowered head. Warg snorted at the Stallion, wheeling in their direction as if to cut the horse off before it reached Tauriel. The big Brown stomped in Warg’s path, snapping teeth at his pony who promptly backed off. The brown horse would tolerate Warg being snippy with the Stallion and Men but not Tauriel which spoke volumes of their relationship. Kili shook his head at the pony, striding past his Elf and her mount in a hurry. Someone had managed to get a thick leather collar on Warg’s neck, seated behind his ears before he was released tonight with the herd. Giving the collar a tug, he managed to get the pony under control.

The Man still wrangled with the large Gray who finally settled once Warg was contained. The Stallion walked to the large Brown horse that was presently lipping Tauriel’s cloak with a snort, nudged a bark colored shoulder and cantered off. His Elf walked under the horse’s head to run a hand down its neck and back up its mane. A mare, Kili decided since he now had an unimpeded view, kept moving its head looking for a treat that she was sure Tauriel had hidden on her person.

“This is Flandif. She is a gorgeous friend, are you not?” She asked the mare who snorted until Tauriel handed her a cube of something.

Warg determined and vocal tonight, plowed ahead to brush a head long Flandif's barrel chest as if in welcome. The Herd guards grumbled something as they walked by one spitting in Warg’s direction as he did so, Tauriel laughed again before Kili could get angry at the disrespect to his mount.

“The herd here has a hierarchy. Grani, the large gray, is the head of it. He is a descendant of Sleipnir, a Mearas, and very proud. According to Baldor there, Grani approached Flandif in greeting but your pony took offense.” Tauriel gave him a half smile. “Quite insistent that Grani keep his distance.”

“We are guests, you daft bugger, this Grani is lord of this herd and you were rude.” Kili spoke to the pony who kept trying to pull away to get closer to Tauriel’s mare. “You don’t suppose he has affection for her, do you?”

“Anything is possible.”

Tauriel walked away from the Keep walls with her mare at her right shoulder. Warg refused to be left behind, trotted in the mare’s wake. She would flick her tail at him, making him toss his head with a squeal only to nip at her hindquarters. The stallion Grani, snorted and pawed the ground but never left his position by a large group brunched near the ramp’s edge.

Tauriel went on to explain some of what she knew of the animals here. The Rohir had bred these creatures from the Mearas to be smarter and stronger than the average beast in a yoke. Great courage flowed in their veins, making them formidable in battle in their own right. Bema or Orome the Great Rider was said to have brought the ancestors of Mearas to Middle Earth, setting them free to find their way to the Mark.

The horses were released in the night until the weather became too cold and the snows buried the Helm’s Dike. A new recruit’s first duty as a Rider was taking a rotation to watch the animals and be a Herd guard. Since the stables possessed enough room for a large company but no more, the stalls were reserved for the lame, sick or the breeding during the longer summer months. Isen and Daisy would among the herds as well, turned out to roam in freedom as Warg had been.  The chosen mounts would remain but the foaling mares and young would leave soon for Aldburg and Edoras to winter there. The outer settlements would keep the pregnant mares that were too far along to travel, caring for them and their foals. Aldburg was a favored place for the horses to go but it was further away than Edoras.

Flandif had refused to take another Rider after her own was felled to Wild man’s charge some years ago. When her foal died, she had refused all company, grazing alone and challenging others to keep their distance. Tauriel couldn’t explain how they communicated for it was Elvish in nature, a mind to spirit connection that transcended spoken language. Watching them together, he could see such a bond had benefited them both. It made him happy that Tauriel had a relationship, someone thinking and feeling that could share herself.

“Do you enjoy your life here?” Kili asked quietly as he joined her as they walked into the Deeping Combe.

“It is as good a place as I could find.” She answered. “Others might have been better yet I was weary then and thought to stay.”

Kili rubbed a hand along Warg’s back as the piebald looked back at him. “I want to stay with you. Here if you like?”

The words between them had not reached this crest, merely expressions of feelings and renewal of hope. Her leaving years ago didn't negate his promises he had made her; they weren't conditional. Tauriel would still have him, want him as part of her life in spite of all of their hardships. He knew not where they would go from here, for truth the idea of taking her North was abhorrent. She looked at Kili with peaceful reserve, the inner workings of her mind hidden from him.

“I want to be wherever you are. But it need not be here, if you desire another place nor decide today.” She breathed deep, running a hand along the mare’s back. “My love, I swore that I would never return to Erebor or Dale. I swore upon the stars.”

“I cannot go back, not to that place and live. It took me so long to realize that I have never been happy there, not only because you were gone. I love my family, Tauriel, but that Delf is not my home.” Kili looked up at her, hoping she would understand. “I won’t live there now, not with all the pain we have experienced saturating the stone.”

She smiled at him in wonder, but also in pain. The visages and ghosts would always be there in the wings of their life together but seeing her determination filling the lines of her face, those ill tidings would never hold sway between them. Tauriel walked to him, taking his face in her slender fingers to scratch his throat with her thumbs.

“You have left too much of yourself in Erebor for it not to be yours. Your blood, energy, family and more.” She smiled at him gently. “I, too, will always be yours, for you have given too much of yourself to me for it to be otherwise.”

He took her hand in his, kissing the knuckles in divine reverence. She pointed to the rise just outside the Deeping Combe. The fire pits still blazed at the fringes of the canyon but in further intervals. The red and gold light threw dancing shadows on the charcoal rock as the sparks floating into the night sky. Swinging onto her large mare, Tauriel flashed him a brilliant smile before urging the horse into a gallop. Quickly mounting Warg, Kili had but a moment as the cantankerous pony plugged into a squealing gallop. Riding without even a lead or saddle, he dug his fingers into the flying mane and gripped the rounded sides in an attempt to stay upright on the headlong flight across the valley.

They rode together passed the herds, Tauriel guiding the mare with a touch of her hands at the mane and the mean spirited Piebald following behind her. Taking the troublesome Warg from his imagined competitors to the outer rim was not so difficult if another horse was involved, Kili supposed, the idea of cooping him up in a stall had merit. They passed another small group, where two shapes broke away from the others. Isen and Daisy called to their companion, giving chase. Tauriel reached boundary statues, sitting upright away from the mare’s shoulders to allow Fla3ndir to slow her speed.

She looked at the new arrivals with a shake of her head as Flandif stretched out her long face to greet Isen but was bumped away by Warg who gave a squeal at the large red stallion in warning.  Sliding from the animals’ backs, Tauriel took his hand in hers as he walked to Daisy and Isen. The chestnut was in better spirits now than he had been earlier, even being tolerant of Warg. Daisy flicked her ears at Tauriel in curiosity, bumping her hand to look for affection. The four horses grouped around a patch of grass to feed as Tauriel led him to a sandy path cut into the rock.

It looked to be a goat path, small enough for single entry. They climbed slowly, with the starlight and the bonfire to illuminate their way. A small clearing to the right of the pit was level enough for two people to sit comfortably, as the fire blasted waves of heat into the air. Taking off his cloak, he flipped it out with a smile to lay it upon the crushed rock, indicating that she take a seat. Tauriel smiled as she removed her own, seating herself upon his cloak.

“Come join me.” She whispered, holding her cloak over her legs as a blanket. “We can watch the stars together.”

“You are the only star I wish to see.” Kili took a seat beside her, pulling Tauriel into his arms. Her legs tucked themselves between his as she laid her head upon his chest.

Looking up at the night sky, he could see the appeal of this spot. The wide open vista of the Rohan rolled into the distance, with tiny dots of light from the hamlet. The stars were closer here, shining brighter than he remembered from Erebor. Tauriel shifted to circle an arm around his body to hold him tightly. She ran a hand over his face, the oval nails scratching into his beard. He didn’t think he could love her more, but he was wrong.

Emerald eyes, no not emerald, not hard like the stones in the mountains. Her look was soft, dewy like the leaves budding in the morning sun. Yes, it was leaf green that looked him to marvel at his closeness and in love. The Elf to whom he had pledged his heart felt no hesitancy no awkward silliness or doubt. She loved him, had pledged herself to him years ago and kept her vow where others of less fortitude would have cast it aside. Tauriel of Rohan was his, now and forever more.

***********

_Sunrise in Erebor_

Willa sloggedly made her way to the Water Chamber like a lumbering water buffalo might in the morning sun. The emotions leftover from her talk with the Athane had left her rolling from one side of the bed to another, chasing the sleep just out of reach. Sigrid’s decision had surprised her yet it shouldn’t have. She had always been fierce on the Lake, caring for her family with a singleminded focus, growing into responsibility faster than a girl should. Many a Man learned in a snap that she wasn’t a light skirt, slapping them back if words had no effect. Strong and intelligent she was, a Princess and a Queen no matter her rough hands. Now, her son’s future was at risk and she wouldn’t stand for that. It was difficult to see another layer of that young girl stripped away to a hardened Athane underneath.

Part of Willa wished that Fili would abdicate and leave to find a happier life somewhere in the west and take Sigrid and the children. They could settle down, have peace of spirit that might have eluded so many. A simple existence. But the Thane had fought Orcs by the thousands, stood against Elves and Men and even his own kin for the right to sit the Throne of the Mountain Court. He was bound this place, to this life, Dwarven pride would not allow him to release it. One day, his son will have to prove his metal to the Dwarves, bleed for the Mountain as his father, uncle and family had done. Young Fian would march into an impossible battle and if he walked out of it, the Dwarrows would never question him. They would follow him into a Dragon’s lair or Warg’s den, screaming their ancestors name for their glory.

Dwarves….

Yet, she was one of them again. The years she had turned away from that calling in her blood, no matter how distant it had been, the resolve to abstain melted in the face of her love. The Dwarf Curse her Da had called it with a laugh, as part of her as her hands and feet. The stubborn need to love and be loved in return by one that could see the beating heart inside and judge its worth as true. Her mam had loved her Da that way, completely and without reservations. Willa loved Oin just the same, had known the first time she saw him in Lake Town before the Dragon burned it down.

She had never approached him in those weeks the Master had feasted and wined them, just watching from afar. Later in Dale she had been content with friendship, two Healers with ideals of helping others. Then she wasn’t content anymore. When Willa realized he wouldn’t refuse her suit despite years of conditioning, it made her bold. The small things from childhood she remembered about Dwarrows, hearing cousins speak before her Mam’s passing, she used with absolute glee. And later pleasure.

Switching directions, Willa hurried towards the Healing Halls. Gloin was a rather lax chaperone, thinking his own business of more consequence than keeping his brother on the straight and narrow. Burin was the opposite much to Willa’s dismay. He had been most vigilant lately between serving the Athane and other duties, allowing their hands to touch but no braid tugging. Oin was so adorable when he quivered as she tugged on his beard, Willa thought as she hurried to the halls. If she were lucky, Burin would be with the Queen and not chasing Oin to make sure Willa acted like a proper Dwarrowdam. She could respect the customs, understanding the need and appearance of respect. That didn’t mean she had to like it.

Cutting past the sloping turn for the Jeweler’s Guild, Willa decided to take the stairs past the barracks when a hand took her elbow and pulled her to a stop. Turning with her mind still upon her love, she was shocked to see Olrun up so early in riding leathers. A Dwarf the Healer wouldn’t forget stood some paces away as if to give the semblance of privacy when in reality none existed. Thorin Stonehelm had been more than passing cruel to her brother.

“Cousin.” Olrun flashed her a happy smile that left her quite unprepared. It wasn’t enough that she had not discussed the Dwarvish side of her person but now they were informing all of the relation.

Grumpily, Ms. Wheat answered. “Olrun, daughter of Tarag. What might I attribute to this early morning greeting?”

Taking her arm in comraderie, Olrun tugged the reluctant healer into a walk crossed the Barracks entrance. “Between us girls, I was hoping that the soldiers here might engage the Stonehelm’s interest while I attempt some time with Dwalin but the Dwarrow is sticking to me like a burr.”

Willa chuckled at her annoyance. “Have you thought to slip some Valerian root into his ale? Dwarves are susceptible to it more than Men.”

“Have you any handy?” Olrun asked in a rush, looking over her shoulder with a smile. “The persistent shadow is being tiresome.”

Skirting around some young Dwarrows loaded with armor, Willa replied. “No but I am sure Oin keeps some in the Healing Halls.” Taking a deep breath, she asked. “Nothing can be gained from our family connection, so why do you reveal it to the Princess?”

“I gain my cousin again. I loved your Amad and we mourned her passing. Our family misses you and your brother. Where is he now?” Olrun asked quietly as if suddenly aware of the Stonehelm breathing down her neck.

“Gondor, I think. He was against me moving back to Lake Town after Lee died.” Her brother was all she had left in this world, his frustration at her decision had hurt. “He took a wife when last we spoke. He’s happy.”

None in Gondor knew her brother possessed Dwarf blood. It was part of his life he wanted to forget and never acknowledge, another reason he didn’t want her there. Willa knew that he would have made a place in his life for her after her husband died, she could have found work as a healer and made a life for herself as well. Willa understood that she would always be a physical reminder of his beginnings and the pain of their childhood. He would come to hate her for it was his nature to dislike what he couldn’t change.

Olrun changed the subject when she realized this wasn’t a good discussion. “You went to the Queen last night?”

The Dwarrowdam stopped, looking around wildly. Darting forward, she pulled Willa into unused chamber and slammed the door on Thorin’s face. Willa couldn’t help but laugh as Olrun slammed the bolt home to bar the door. The furnishings in the room were sparse, likely as not used for informal meetings. The large blond woman would understand the need for discretion when discussing the Queen’s business.

“But cousin Olrun, why are you being so mean to him. He just wants to care for your safely.” Willa’s nasally sing song voice would scare a pack of Wargs looking for a meal.

Olrun shot her a snotty look. “Wants me safely at the Iron Court, you mean. Dain sent him as a spy and as my guard. Dwalin can get no closer than a foot if he is near.”

Willa laughed until she felt tears rolling down her cheeks. “I think you want the good Captain much closer than that. “

“Enough about me and my issues.” Olrun sat in a vacant chair next to a low table. “What says the Queen? The Princess was very upset last evening.”

Willa shook her head, taking the opposite chair. “What lies between the Queen and Princess is best left for them to work it out and us to await them. Nothing good comes from getting involved. Athane did say to go forward with the plans of helping Herja escape.”

Olrun’s eyes gleamed as she smiled widely. “Cousin Urd, you counterfeit! Skuld has none of your good sense and she is not many years under you.”

“Skuld wasn’t hated in the Iron Court for the mixture in her blood. Dourhand and Broadbeam still equal Dwarf.” Willa felt badly the moment she spoke, Skuld wasn’t responsible for her early life. Linnar’s Daughter would have been well loved by all, and it showed in her pleasant smiles. “Has Skuld made Herja’s acquaintance?”

“Very briefly. Eir didn’t want her to seem needy, merely polite.” Olrun snickered. “Skuld said she wears a turban like the Easterlings to hide her hair and beard. There is always a guard but one that is friendly to Herja, almost like a butler.” Olrun’s look became contemplative. “Plus, getting her out might be difficult, Herja might not like the idea of spending time with the Stoors.”

Willa laughed as someone banged, demanding entry. “If you have any Valerian root left over from Thorin, put it in her tea. An unconscious person is easier to move than a waking one.”

Olrun sat back in her chair with a satisfied smile. “Dear Urd, I could have used you in the Iron Hills.”

“As if the Ironfoot would allowed me entry.” Willa rose from the chair, the discussion was bothering her. She wanted to see Oin and passing the time with her cousin, no matter how jovial reminded her of old hurts.

“The Ironfoot would not, but Linnar never shunned your family. You were always welcome at his hearth.” Olrun walked up to Willa to run her hands down an arm in consolation. “Have you told your Dwarrow?”

“No.”

“You have more Mannish blood than Dwarf and he accepted you as a daughter of Man, probably will not be bothered by it. But you don’t want him to think you are ashamed. In truth, I haven’t told Dwalin myself of the Dourhand connection, he may not want me after he knows.” Olrun spoke quietly, fearfully as the Princess’ reaction yesterday gave her pause. She knew that the Blue Mountain Longbeards might be less forgiving of Dourhand blood, having a recent history of conflict more than the Broadbeams.

Patting Olrun’s hand, the Healer walked to the door, allowing the Stonehelm entry only after giving him a sneer. He would remember the girl named Urd who ran through Linnar’s halls as a child, standing as tall as the Striplings and young Dwarrows who jeered at her and her brother’s mixed status. Linnar was forgiving that he had not cared for the quality of their blood only that they served. He treated all the same be they Dourhand, Longbeard or Broadbeam. It was only after her mam passed that her father tired of their attitude, settling at the Long Lake for a new start.

Her mind on the past, she almost walked by her future, missing several turns that would have brought her to Oin. Backtracking for the lesser used stairs, she chastised herself for allowing her mind to wonder. As she neared the halls, Willa slowed to a walk to peak around corners to see who was about before she made herself known. It would do no good if Burin was with the Queen only to be fetched by a well-meaning Stripling or Dwarf. For a large woman, she could effect a light step if the situation called for it. Giving a quick look to the open ward, Willa kept pace until she reached the end at Oin’s chamber door. She had not seen him directly but thought to check his quarters in case he was taking a moment to himself.

Quietly opening the door, she slipped inside to find her love at his desk, his quill scratching away at the parchment. Grinning in excitement, Willa closed the door, bolted it and hurried across the room, her dress swishing about her legs at her haste. Covering his eyes, she leaned close to the ear that he could hear the most to whisper a greeting and follow it with a nip to the lobe. He jumped in surprise but chuckled warmly as he pulled her hands away to look at her. Claiming a kiss was a simple act but when it turned rousingly passionate, Willa tugged back his chair with him in it so that she could seat herself in his lap.

The ecstasy she had discovered that first snowfall had been locked in the back of her mind for propriety’s sake, yet now they had time and opportunity. And a bolted door. His fingers made short work of her skirts, yanking them out of the way before diving for her small clothes. The brush of his hands on her bottom was an intoxication of her senses, caressing skin that flushed with excitement. Willa was fair drunk on him by the time his member was freed to sheath inside her moist furrow.

Their coupling was quick, Willa too intemperate with need and Oin too buoyant with delight. She kissed him as he spent himself, stifling his groans to keep anyone outside the door from overhearing. Oin held her tightly after, murmuring into her chest. She laid her head on the top of his as her breathing returned to normal, smiling at the pleasure that was completely unexpected.

“You have not seen Burin this morning?” Oin asked her as he gathered handfuls of her skirt.

“No.”

“Well, the little shit stirrer will be along soon, I want as much alone time with you as I can get before he tries to shame you into leaving.” At that, Oin lifted her bodily and carried her across the room. “Huh.. I need a bigger bed.”

With his own trousers about his ankles, he quickly yanked off her skirt, deaf to her laughing protests. Finally, Willa began helping him when it was obvious that he had intentions of stopping. He was shorter than her but very imaginative. Their first time was quick, the second was not as Oin touched and stroked all he could. The drag of his flesh inside hers, the joining was more than skin and deeper than thought. She loved him, each and every inch of him. Willa could not look anywhere but his eyes as his thrusts became harder, pushing them both into the maelstrom of delicious pleasure. The aftermath of their gasping release found them cuddled in each other’s arms, looking for the haven in the storm of rapture.

“Willa, can we push up the marriage date? I hate the thought of creeping and hurried love.” Oin whispered into her hair as she nestled close to him. “Also, if we couple more than once every two weeks, I won’t leave bruises on your hips.”

“True but there will be the possibility of bruises in other areas that are more public. Besides, you might get tired of me and my lustful habits.” Willa joked as she lightly scratched down his back, making his shiver in delight.

“Never!”

He pulled her head back to kiss her passionately, fervidly. Such a kiss sparked her desire, pressing Oin on his back. His stamina was breathtaking, already his member rose to the occasion awaiting Willa’s possession. Making comparisons between the new and the old, is never a kind thing for a woman to do but she couldn’t help but smile at her lover as she lowered her body to his. Her husband had never been this energetic, even as a young man. Oin was magnificent in his passion, giving her pleasure and receiving his own only after she was satisfied.

Their release left them winded, nuzzling each other with Willa’s legs hanging off the end of the bed. Yes, there would be bruising and she would wear them all as a badge of honor, testament that her love held her in passion and genuine enthusiasm. Truly, she needed nothing else in this world.

“So the wedding..” Oin coughed. “Next full moon?”

“I think the Queen might disagree. I serve her now, remember.” Oin kissed her forehead as she pushed her flyway strands from her damp face. “There is something I wish you to know, Oin.” The Dwarrow opened an eye to her as he shifted on his side.

“My lady, I just pleasured you several times, yet you look disgruntled. It is worrisome, I must say.” Oin groused. “It never bodes well when a female says we must talk after coupling.”

“How would you know, bachelor that you are.” She giggled. Oin had that side of his personality that could make her laugh at the oddest times.

“Dwarrows talk after a stiff drink, my lady. They also talk when I stitch up knife wounds made their wives.” Willa closed her eyes as he traced a finger down her nose back over her eyebrows. “I never tire of looking at you, I might have been content to do just that had you not claimed me for your own.”

“My love, being at your side makes me content.” Taking his hand, Willa kissed his palm. “I feel alive when you look at me, like every part is waiting for you to notice. Your touch makes me wild with desire.” She took a deep breath easing away from him so that she could see him clearly for Willa never thought to say this aloud again in her lifetime. “Oin, at my birth, my mam called me Urd.”

Oin’s face crunched in confusion as he reached out to her. “That’s a Khazad name.”

“Yes,… gods this is hard.” She looked around the room for anything that might assist her in this but found nothing. “My Gamul Khagun was a Dourhand Dwarf.”

Being naked with him, making love didn’t make her fell as vulnerable as telling him about her family. Oin would not know how exposed she felt or how much she trusted him to lower those protective shields around her heart and show him every bit of it. Willa was about to look away when Oin reached to caress her jaw with his strong, blunt fingers. Such an expression of kindness made her feel like she must be the most special person in the world. He took her into his arms again, using all his strength to be gentle, and let his lips touch hers so lightly that Willa could hardly feel it.

“There is more to you than meets the eye, my lovely?” Oin whispered into her hair. “Do you own fealty to the Dourhands?”

“No, in truth, I have never meet any outside of Linnar’s holding.” Willa held her breath in fear as he thought for a minute, still stroking his face and neck. “You have the power to tear me to pieces, to wound me so deep and true that I'll never recover. I wouldn’t even protest, just scoop up the shards and slink away. So if you cannot accept that I have mixed blood, please tell me!”

“I would never let you go...even if you begged for your freedom. Love holds me enthralled to you.” Oin kissed her deeply, passionately. “So next full moon for the wedding? Dori wants you to come by for the new dresses that will be part of your trousseau.” Oin steamrolled by the comments about her heritage as if they didn’t matter, reminding Willa of what Olrun said about his not caring. He really didn’t care.

“You gave me citrine clips as a courting gift already. I gave you a new saddle. Why does there need to be a trousseau?” Willa was becoming confused by the talk of bridal things, when her mind was still trapped by the fear of him disliking her Dourhand blood. The saddle had been an practical gift since he insisted on accompanying her to Dale in the future as an escort.

“Don’t you want lacy things?” Oin looked helpless as if not sure where to go with the idea.

“Lace is scratchy when damp and it always gets in the way.” Smiling at him before giving him a kiss. “I don’t want anything between us that might impeded our pleasure.”

At that moment, the door starting rattling with a very irritated Burin on the other side, shouting ‘Uz Oini’ as he banged on the wood. “I think I will starting calling Burin ‘Lace’ then. As a fitting nickname rather than ‘Shit Stirrer’…”

 

***888*****888***

_Translations:_

1 My Lady

2 There is a situation that requires you and the Dwarf. I was asked to find him as well. This would not have been a place I would look.

3 He and I have known each other long before I came here. The company I keep is mine own affair.

4 I am so sorry to disturb, but since this involves Flandir, the Master of the Horse thought you would be appraised.

5 Why was my Dwarf requested?

6 His pony is disturbing the herd.

7 Thank Master Weland for his attention. I will attend him after I have seen Flandir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is lighter than the previous chptrs because even though the end is about 10 chptrs away (I keep saying that, I think I said 5 chptrs ago) There is some plot resolution that needs doing.
> 
> Master Weland is the stable/ Farrier Master in charge of the herd, he will come up in a later chapter..


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, misty eye of the mountain below  
> Keep careful watch of my brothers' souls  
> And should the sky be filled with fire and smoke  
> Keep watching over Durin's son  
> ~ Ed Sheeran - I See Fire ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technical difficulties *repost*
> 
> Ohhhh ok..The first part of this is Bain's POV.. Dorlad, Kili and Tauriel and just about everyone else...especially the nasty Werrmund..  
> For expediency's sake I have italicized the Rohirric language.. There is just too much of it and I want to be fair to the readers and not cause undue headaches. 
> 
> The second part is olrun and the girls with Nori getting a plan together.

Bain took a bench at the midpoint of the hall. His head felt like a herd of horses were dancing upon his skull in a wild tattoo of excitement. Rohir mead was strong, probably why the bastards only brought it out in the evenings. Yet, as Bain looked around the room with bleary eyes, none of the Men seemed the worse for their drinking. Having had his share of wooly head in the mornings after a drinking night, the Prince of Dale was nigh disgusted that what they had consumed barely slowed these Riders in the least.

Each was laughing, chasing bacon grease and gravy around their trenchers with biscuits to wash down their meals with what looked like ale. In the Morning! How did they stay upright in the saddles all day or go about their chores? Bain morosely wished for weak brewed tea yet knew that it was not forthcoming. The indelicate suffering just seemed to push his mood further into foul regions.

The Lady of the Keep, Alfgivia and her oldest daughter entered the hall and for the most part the conversation quieted. Whatever the talk that gets bandied about over the sunrise meal, these Men had no wish for their lady to hear it or felt it was wrong before the Lord’s daughter. The ladies were dressed in what looked to be a much thinner broadcloth than the women of Dale favored. The colors were simpler maybe not as vibrant that what he had seen. Their blues were paler against pale skin and dark hair this morning, traces of the coveted Numenorean descent that so many houses prized in this part of the world.

Dorlad had explain last evening before the Lady Arnorra was of marriage age and others had been travelling to Helm’s deep to pay court to the lass. Bain looked her over now as he had last night to find her comely but distantly proper. It had not been malicious nor did the Prince of Dale feel as if the Daughter of the House looked upon and found him wanting for his muddy clothes of serviceable caliber. She had taken the time to speak with him in quiet tones, of monotonous things in her slightly broken Westron. Tauriel had been her teacher, she advised with a slight smile, and a good one else Arnorra was just a fast learner. He could have guessed as much with her Elvish rounded infliction to the speech instead of the harsher cast that Lake Towner might use. No doubt, young Lady of the House had learned some Sindar as well, being that it was a popular language in Gondor according to Tilda.

It had been her mother though who had been kind enough to show them to rooms in the upper ward. Travelling with a friend of the Marshall had afforded them a room rather than a bunk in the garrison. Dorlad would not have cared at any road and Bain felt the same. After weeks of late fall rain and sludge conditions, a bed or a pallet were both heaven in equal measures as long as it was dry. The Lady Alfgivia looked removed from them as she had shown them where they would sleep. Not haughty as if she were better than they, just not amiable to their presence. Dorlad advised while they cleaned up before leaving Kili to himself that Alfgivia was the youngest daughter of a minor merchant house in Gondor. She had taken Aeldklif as husband after he had saved her Lord father who had been travelling through Rohan.

Such attitudes confused Bain and reminded him of what little he knew of being a King. Other houses in other lands made matches for security or money, there was some sort of an exchange that had rarely to do with love. Growing up in Lake Town, one married for love, bore children out of love. While he saw the Lord and Lady pass each other with a nod and smile last eve, there had been no gift of affection in either of them.

Dorlad broke away from a table of the loudest Riders, laughing broadly at some comment. He stumbled over a leg that tried to trip him, pushing the offender forward over his trencher with a forearm to the back of the head. The laugher from him was loud, drawing the thin lined smile of the Alfgivia, yet not her daughter. The Dunedain thumped down in the seat, straddling the pine as he reached for a biscuit from the center of the table.

Dorlad wore a pleasant smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Good morning, Bain. Have you seen Kili this morning?”

“No, why?” Bain reached for another biscuit with single minded determination. He refused to allow a wooly head to get the better of him.

They had left their Dwarf to go to the baths last night, thinking to see him after the dining. Yet after a tankard or two of mead, Bain had all but forgot that there was Dwarf with him at all. When he awoke this morning alone, he had made the assumption that he was checking on the horses that were to be released last evening.

“We have a problem then.” Smile still in place as if there was nothing amiss. “He was seen in the company of his Elf. In her rooms in the middle of the night.”

“That’s great!” Bain started with a wide grin despite his headache, only to be pushed down to the bench again by his friend. If she had sought him out last night, it would explain his absence.

Bain had looked for her in the early evening, with every intention of making her acquaintance again. Tauriel had been kind and he remembered her with fondness, particularly after his experience in Rivendell. The contact with the Noldorin Elves had been warm but never so open as he what his family had seen with her. Yet, Tauriel had not been found in the hall.

“No, it isn’t!” Dorlad continued with the same smile never moving as he looked around the room at the others still eating and drinking. “There is a Rider here who has fancied himself in love with her while she all but ignores him. The lady Lifa has a tendre for him as well.The Eoreds have watched it with some amusement so far but this Rider, Werrmund, is taking umbrage that Kili was with her in rooms unaccompanied, calling her virtue into question.”

Bain paused for a moment, thinking past the ache in his head. “Sounds like he is mad that Tauriel would not accept him and embarrassed that she would see Kili.”

The complication of a rival would not sit well with his Dwarf friend, verily Werrmund would be lucky to keep parts of himself intact. Tauriel had run from Mirkwood to her Dwarf’s side when she learned that he had been struck with Morgul poison, battled Orcs in Bain’s home for their lives. Then she stayed for days to make sure Kili lived, knowing her home was gone from her based on her decision to save a Dwarrow’s life. For love. No, this Werrmund had more to worry from Tauriel than Kili. She would never have accepted another.

“Very true. A jilted suitor does not always go gently.” Dorlad’s attention focused behind him as he stuffed a biscuit into his mouth. “The Riders do not know what to make of this since the Elf didn’t hold Kili in any favor yesterday. No one knows if the rumor is true.”

Bain watched the Ladies drift further away to the corridor leading out of the hall. He heard the rustle of material and a gush of Rohirric in feminine tones that Dorlad in his gruff way returned. Bain looked over his shoulder to see the Aeldklif’s youngest child dressed in riding leathers engaging the Dunedain in a loud raised converstion. She had a bright smile and when she looked to him, the expression she gave Bain could only be describe as beautifully sunny. It was too early upon his sensitive drunken head for such a lively discussion.

“I come from stable.” Her voice was lower as she continued to smile in lieu of greeting. “Master Weland told that Elf and Dwarf under cloak near statues passed …” The girl looked confused for a moment as if unable to find the right world. “Must go …them..word spreading…”

Dorlad sighed low into a swear that made the young girl giggle until she looked in her mother’s direction.   There was a sigh of her own as she walked away to where the ladies stood, apparently waiting for her. Bain noticed the Lady of the Keep speaking rapidly, each world beating upon the head of her youngest daughter until all the sunny girl could only see her boots.   Decorum, and other such wash yet the sunny girl had thought to tell them where the couple might be found.

“We must hurry.” Dorlad rose, draining his tankard. “I know not what will happened with this.”

Bain rose as well, confused. “I don’t understand.”

“The lady Lifa is saying that the Elf and Dwarf were together last night in the open ground where any guard or horse might see them. Sharing a cloak out here is rather like having a tryst. The gossip will be worse now.” Dorlad headed for the doors, calling out to some of the riders as he went. Bain struggled to keep up with the fast walking Man. “The morals out here are funny. The higher the status the more protected the woman’s virtue. I don’t know where the Elf ranks but I know she does have one.”

The pair hurried out of the hall as discreetly as possible, coming out to the brisk morning air at the courtyard. The bright orb had crested the valley, spearing Bain’s eyes with unrelenting pressure. Turning away from the glare, he looked to the long entrance to the Hornburg. Massively tall, the spire rose into the blue of the dawn, its grey rock driving it into halves. The watch tower at the top would be able to see for miles beyond counting, the early warning in times of war. Bain let his gaze wander the columns, almost snickering the horseshoes melted into the keystone of each arch.

He started to ask Dorlad a question, only to realize his friend was trotting down the steps pasted the statue of Helm Hammerhand and the broken statue of Eorl. He turned right at a slopping run. Bain set off to follow, not knowing this Keep as well as his friend nor wanting to be left behind. Not sure of what to say when they found Kili, Bain was quite sure of what the Dwarf would do about the rumors. The pinched situation that they found themselves was going to get tighter until the whys and wherefores were explained to the Lord. That, of course, he would leave to Kili and Tauriel for it was their lives and what they wanted. Running downhill in the spiral tiered path of the bailey, they arrived at the open gates in short order.

Soldiers milled about as carts were loaded down with feed sacks to get the daily allotment of grain to the horses. The Dunedain grabbed a couple of loaded sacks as he ambled by, handing several to Bain to carry. Tying the loops together, he flipped the bags over his shoulder and followed. Dorlad spoke as he shifted around laborers to gain the causeway, explaining some of the duties. As the horses normally grazed on their day of rest, the feed was lighter. The Riders were responsible for their mounts, many bonding so close they would sleep in the stalls with the animal if it was ill or out in the Deep. Each morning the Riders were required to catch their mounts if their Eored was out on patrol that day. The other horses would be driven out onto the plain for more exercise and save the valley’s grass that would be dying out due to the cold.  

Last night when he had set the horses free, it had been mostly night fall with little to see save the firepits and the black shapes of moving horses. In the early light of dawn, the horse herds took his breath as it had upon their arrival. So many horses, walking in ambling stride with a whinny and trot to a returning rider. They were beautiful, like poetry in motion. A large grey to the right trotted about with his head held high and tail flying behind him like a streaming banner. Quite the showoff, Bain thought with a smile as the animal pranced and kicked before settling down before Lord Aeldklif not far away. Bain smiled and bowed a head to the Lord in greeting as the large Man offered a feed bag to the large stallion. Aeldklif acknowledged him with a smile as he rubbed the gray’s head speaking softly.

Bain found he respected the Lord more for caring for his animal himself instead of delegating it to another. Horses remembered who handled them, who loved them and those who could not be trusted. Isen was still young and might have once been apart of this herd, maybe his dam was one of the mares they passed even now.

“The Lady Lifa said near the statues?” Bain asked as he continued by the horses who raised their heads in curious nickers. 

“Way out past the Dike, lets not bring too much attention to this situation. Aeldklif is out here with his stallion, Grani and I prefer the less seen the better.” Dorlad searched the rock ledges as Bain did, looking at the soldiers and nodding to many. “See your stallion? I doubt he will be far from them.”

Bain had been looking for Isen but so far had not spotted him in the seething mass of horse flesh. The big red might be fifty feet away but with forty horses between them he would be completely blocked from view. He couldn’t risk a call, even though many of the horsemen were doing so to find their companions faster. Isen was vocal after a night’s separation unless they were sleeping out in the open where he could keep an eye on Bain. The big chestnut’s caring went beyond what he had seen in other horses and riders. Isen had come between him and disaster more than once on this quest, he was more loyal than some of Bain’s friends back in Dale.

They walked around a small herd, to get through the Dike’s break and out in the Deeping Combe. Scrub grass grew in thick clumps here, bunching together where others had been mowed down by teeth of various animals. The horses were massing towards the causeway in expectation of their morning feed, making the search that much easier. A squeal in the distance that Bain knew without a doubt was Warg was closer than he had expected.

Missing a pile of animal waste, Dorlad found his gelding at the streamside. His dark hair soaked in the sun as a Raven’s wing might with only a strand or two of grey looking not much younger than Bain though he was closer to Kili’s age. The Ranger shook the feed bag to which the small horse’s head raised high with ears flicked forward. The animal left the water, trotting quickly to Dorlad and began rooting round the Ranger to get the feed. The Dunedain laughed at his antics until opening the bag for his mount. The brown bay’s head disappeared in the canvas with a lunge, eating heartily. If viewing that display for the first time, one might thing the animal was starved. Bain had seen the horse do it often enough to know him to be a grasper.

A few of horses of dark and molted gray with foals at their sides trotted passed, hooves making sucking noises in the sandy dirt. Their heads were high with mane flying behind them to keep him, the unknown in their sight line. Smiling, Bain could see Daisy, Warg circling a brown horse with Isen to one side. The brown horse was taller than Warg by several hands, grazed onward barely acknowledging the active pony. Isen held a sleepy bent of the leg, his hindquarters dipped low as his weight shifted. His large red head was low as well, not a foot off the ground. For his big chestnut to be resting after sunrise, he must have been most adventurous after his release last night.

Daisy spotted him first sending a hail of nickers and rapid flicker of ears. Not versed in the Equine language, Bain imagined that her sounds translated to something of ‘Look, Isen, your rider comes.’ Isen perked up considerably, straightening his body line to swing around to see what caused his pony friend to speak. Upon seeing Bain, Isen immediately came to him, flicking his tail at the direction of the other horses. The Brown raised a head with ears twitching with a long stare of consideration.

A slide of rocks to his left had Bain turning to the noise. So early in the morning, his felt as if his head would fall off at the quick movement. Tauriel with her long bright red hair waving at her back, walked out to the plain some twenty feet away. She wore simple leathers as she had been yesterday, carrying a short sword in her left hand. He had no idea she was so close never heard her movement until the last. It must has been the same for the Spiders or Orcs in Mirkwood, never knowing that death was upon them, clothed in forest colors of varying browns.

The large bark colored horse walked to her, nipping Warg away when he got too close to the Elf. She rubbed the horse’s head with a smile on her face before looking Bain’s direction. Tauriel watched him quietly as a smile eased across her face, a shy smile. The brown at her side was a mare unless Bain was too wooly headed this morning to know the difference.

“Mae g'ovannen.” Bain said quietly when she stopped not far from him.  

“Gi suilon!” Her smile widened with pleasure. “You remember..”

“I had a good teacher.” Bain rubbed Isen’s neck as he stretched his head to Tauriel’s mare. She chuckled low as she looked back to the rocks where she had come.

Bain caught himself admiring her in the morning light, not with the same childish surprise that he had when he was twelve but with a man’s appreciation. Tauriel’s quality was Elvish, the smooth skin unlined by time and the elements. She was slick, compact like a deer or an elk of the Mirkwood, with the same wild spirit. The tautness of her small frame looked brittle, so breakable yet they lived long lives in deceptively durable structures. Other Men might look upon the first born as captivatingly beautiful but Bain could not. All of her features he inventoried, it was not hard to see that others coveted Elves for their own for different reasons. However, he could never look upon Tauriel in desire but friendship and maybe worry.

“How are things with you? Yesterday, it..” He left the sentence, unable to finish. It was not his business but theirs yet, concern for Kili pushed Bain into it.

“Yes, my apologies for that. I had of late received some information that was in error.” She took a deep breath before looking back to where she had come. “But it’s resolved now. We passed the night and talked out our complications.”

Bain shook off the feed bags, tying one into Daisy’s collar, then doing the same to Warg. He shook the bag to Isen, who sniffed first before sinking into the canvas depths. “That’s good. Kili has been lost without you, Tauriel.” Bain smiled to her in apology. “I didn’t know we would find another horse. We only brought enough for our mounts.”

The Elf shook her head to him. “Flandif will have to be fed closer to the causeway, at any road. It is to ensure that she won’t hang back from the Herd in future feedings.”

Bain wanted to ask what future she was referring when a loud grumbling began from the rocks and Kili emerged with Tauriel’s and his cloak thrown over his shoulder. “Elf, you have left me again.”

The grumbling was a poke at her but for once in a very long time, Bain saw the release of Kili’s pain and a truly relaxed Dwarf stood before him. Tauriel laughed. “Never far, and never again.”

She leaned to him, touching her forehead to his. Bain felt as if he was intruding, witnessing something private and looked away as Tauriel rubbed her cheek against Kili’s beard. The long exhale from the both made him smile. Yes, he thought things were looking up finally. It reminded him of the purpose for finding them so early, and invading their reunion.

Isen finished eating his feed, he began shaking his head to let loose the bag. Daisy was a slow eater, not as greedy as her comrades. Bain removed the canvas when he looked to Warg who by the sounds emanating from the bag was trying to eat the canvas. He was in the process of tugging the sack from Warg when several hoof beats pounded the sand under their feet, causing Bain to turn.

Lord Aeldklif rode to them astride the large dark gray stallion Bain had seen him feeding. His thunderous expression gave Bain a moment of concern. Another Man rode at his side, his black mare tossing her head against the hackamore looped through her neck collar. Bain looked to Dorlad who was swinging upon the back of his gelding to join them.

“What is mean of this?” Aeldklif asked, angered as he tried to quiet his stallion. “Lady Elf? You cloaked yourself with Dwarf in the night?”

Kili lurched forward but Tauriel held him fast. “ _My lord, I did. But naught passed between us save words_. _It was a conversation that could not wait_.”

Dorlad arrived but kept still, and more kept his own council. He watched with a quiet fortitude that would have unnerved a subordinate into babbling. The Man at Aeldklif’s right hand, caught the Dunedain’s eye and gave him a slow shake of the head.

“ _All words can wait until the sun shines upon them, only bright light reveals honesty. The night has a way of changing the meaning of any phrase until the listener hears only what they wish and not what is true_.” The words were gruff to Bain but filled with the same inflections that his father had when Bard lectured him. It wasn’t difficult to see that Aeldklif cared for Tauriel and had her better interests at heart.

“My Dwarf is not that way, my Lord.” Bain watched her as she spoke with the harsh finality. Kili met Aeldklif’s censure with a stare of his own, he would not back away from his love.

While some Elves knew the trick of saying two things at once, Silvans were much more direct in their speech or so the Prince of Dale remembered. Tauriel had spoken the last in Westron for their benefit and to show her loyalty to _her_ Dwarf while the rest was disguised in Rohirric. Bain tried and failed to hold back a snicker at her declaration, only to draw the attention of the Lord of the Keep.

Isen suddenly felt that the large grey that Aeldklif rode was more than a little too close to Bain. He walked two steps forward with head and tail high to snort at the gray. Aeldklif’s horse was no stranger to a challenge, half reared and snapped his teeth in Isen’s direction for his insolence. Kili’s scream of “Warg!” was the only warning they possessed when a splash of black and white slammed into the front of Grani by his right leg, causing him to stagger to his left to keep his footing and his rider. Aeldklif grunted as he grabbed the mane of his horse who squealed at the pony as Warg trotted back to his mates. Bain fumbled his grasp of the leather collar at Isen’s neck to keep him still and away from the stallion as he righted himself.

“Tauriel, come to hall.” Aeldklif snapped as he wheeled his stallion away to gallop back to the causeway.

It was only when he was out of earshot that the Man who rode with him began to chuckle quietly along with Dorlad. He called something to the Dunedain who answered in kind. Tauriel shook her head at both of them, pulling away from Kili to leap up to her mare’s back.

“I’ll come with you.” Kili told her as he tried and failed to catch Warg who loped circles around the brown mare.

“No need. It is me who is trouble.”

She walked the mare passed the Man but got no further when he reached out to take the head collar and speak. “ _Prepare yourself. Werrmund has had a long mouth this morning. I will see to_ your _Dwarf. Worry not_.” Tauriel nodded before laying heel to the mare and loping back to the keep.

“Kili and Bain. I would like to introduce the Herd Master, Weland. No one knows horses better than he.” Dorlad chuckled as Kili groused at the pony who ran after the brown mare, baying like donkey the whole way.

**88**88**

It took time to catch the errant Warg and get the horses groomed, Kili was anxious the entire time. Dorlad spoke little of what was said between Tauriel and Aeldklif, only that she had held her ground with him. Bain could see his concern for this situation, wishing to be apart of it. His name would be mentioned of course for there was the cloaked debacle but the Dwarf’s nerves pitched higher when Bain confided that gossip was spreading that he was known to be in her quarters.

Weland brought them food and drink and gave a few quiet words to Dorlad who groaned in annoyance. “We need to be in the hall. Weland says that the Rider Werrmund is being an ass.”

The trip to the hall was quick as Kili was practically running, stumbling in his haste to reach her. The doors to the hall were open, allowing the breeze to refresh the stale smells of smoke and unwashed bodies. The braziers were lit to warm the chilly air with black plumes drifting to the obscure the ceiling. Loud voices clashed in the room as the scene unfolded. Small knots of Riders stood in the wings of the room or seated at tables. Tauriel and the Rider who had been in the hall yesterday when they arrived stood before the Lord and his seated Lady Alfgivia. Why the Lady of Keep would be in attendance, Bain could not say as Dorlad began to translate the conversation.

“ _I never tempted her into wantonness. I sought to woo with bashful honesty and affection. All the while, this Lady_ ,” Werrmnd groused in sarcasm. “ _cuckolded me with a traveler!.... not even a Man! But despicable Dwarf_!”

Bain put a hand upon Kili’s shoulder, an unconscious thing to hold him in place. Tauriel looked back at him with a smile as if what was happening here bothered her little. The Rider at her side, turned as well, scowling at them. He bore a handsome face for his lesser years, in truth he was not much older than Bain himself. His leather jerkin was beautiful, a worked tooled affair with small running horses across the belly and iron studs at the arms. Iron shanks like the ones the Dwarf at the Dunedain village possessed were braided across the shoulders. His hair was long to the shoulder with darker strands underneath the mane.

“ _My Lady, I am sure that you understand that one does not consort under a cloak without the benefit of marriage_.” The Lady spoke with quiet fortitude. There was no sound in the room, no din to cut the Lady of the Keep’s censure.

Bain was struck with an odd thought as he watched the Lady’s expression. The selfish quality was quite unnerving. Might Tauriel be valued by the Lady for being an Elf and not for her overall contribution to the general defense of the Keep? Kili had mentioned from what he had learned of the Stiffbeard Dwarf that Elves and Elvish blood were prized in Gondor, the land of Alfgivia’s birth. The inner workings of the Lady of the Keep’s mind were unknown to Bain but it would a fascinating twist if Alfgivia considered herself higher than her contemporaries for having the service of one of the fair folk.

Tauriel stared at the Alfgivia with a quiet regard, accepting how they lived even if her own beliefs might be in conflict. Dorlad snickered quietly as he translated the Lady’s words before staring on Tauriel’s. “ _My Lord and Lady, according to the customs of the Silvan, Kili son of Vali, Prince of Erebor is my husband_.” The Elf turned her head to seek Kili, finding him in the hall behind her, she smiled. “ _We parted under duress many years ago but it changes not the fact that to every Elf in Arda, I am bound to him. The braids I wear speak of his promise_.”

Quiet gasping filled the hall as Dorlad confirmed what Bain knew when he heard her speak of Erebor. Tauriel had admitted that he was a Prince of the Dwarves. The Lord and Lady’s eyes immediately swung to Kili, assessing who for his part merely raised his chin in acknowledgement. The pair looked at Bain now with new eyes wondering at his fortune that he travel with a Prince to the Kingdom under the Mountain. Dorlad they knew as a Dunedain but so far Bain had no real status.

“ _Two cultures, yet only married in one! I think that Dwarf is a deceiver, royal or not. Sunder your connection to him for he cares not for you_!” Werrmund shouted as he paced, looking and finding arguments but at the same time pushing forward his cause. “ _My lord, it is obvious our Elf knows not the right of things in the world. Better to give her in marriage to someone who will care for her, than a Dwarf who has cast her aside_.”

It was the last act of a desperate man, even Bain could see this now. Lady Arnorra and the Eored Master Dernhelm who lead them here took a stance to lower left of the two people locked in verbal combat. A second man came to stand behind the pair. Weland, the Herd Master, was obviously a supporter of Tauriel’s for his blue gaze was cold as he stared at Werrmund. He stood with his arms crossed with one hand upon a dagger at his belt where his Lord could not see.

“ _I do not consent_! _You know not his life nor mine_.” Tauriel hissed angrily at Werrmund. “ _I am Kili’s as much as he is mine. I will never consent to take another but fight for my love until I haven’t breath nor strength!”_

“Enough!” Aeldklif voice boomed from the platform, shaking many in its path. “The Lady Elf has said they are married according to the customs of her people, but not the Dwarf’s. To final the bond of their lives, I will see them married here at the Hornburg. It will end any question of who has rights.”

Werrmund began shouting along with a few others, his cronies if Bain had it to judge. Things must have a different cast in the Riddermark for them to go armed before their Lord. Nowhere in Dale or Erebor’s court was a subject allowed to carry weapons during a dispute. Kili had allowed a delegate to live but only just who wore a sword before Fili’s throne. The probability of violence or at least a fight was not to be discounted when tempers ran shorter than the emotions behind them.

“Dwarves..” he sneered in contempt. “ _Craven, vile things little better than trolls or the wild men. Let they hide in their damp caves, and leave the fair ones to those most deserving grace and wisdom_.”

“ _You know not the nature of Dwarves nor will I allow you to scoff at he who I have taken as my husband. Their virtues are beyond you ken_.” A hand upon her dagger, Tauriel spoke with cool assurance and no little trace of anger.

Dorlad spoke rapidly, trying to keep up with the conversation that was coming faster and faster as tempers heated with malicious consequences. In all else in life, Bain could say for truth that Tauriel loved Kili as if time was immaterial and the long years of their parting were but a second. She would kill for him, destroy for him, savage anyone who dared attempt to take him from her. This was the Elf of his memories, the one who had fought to save a Dwarf that she loved. She would fight again and again for him.

Bain turned to glance at Kili to find the source of the chopping noise. His iron jaw was set, grinding his teeth into powder most likely. Unaware, Kili stared straight ahead, his eyes iced over. Bain had seen fury in them before, but this crystalline rage chilled the Prince, reminding him of Rivendell. Whatever was going on in his head was dark, deeper than black. When Dwarves got mad, they stormed, they let it out in one way or another, but Kili was holding all of it in. His rage had no passion to it, just a mounting dreaded tranquility.

“ _You uncivil lady. I am a man of Rohan who offered for your hand! Yet, you abase yourself in the mud and stink with them, choosing low creatures to spread your legs!”_ Werrmund attempted to grab her hand, but she knocked him aside instead. “ _Glacial cruelty, begone! Foul your accursed body with him for I care not_.”

Before Dorlad finished his translation, Kili was already roaring louder than Wargs or Trolls ever dreamed as two Rohir attempted to subdue him in place. His Dwarf companion, slammed a fist into their bellies, shouldering them aside as he ran at Werrmund. Dorlad yanked on the back of the Dwarf’s gambeson, stopping his flight as Bain took position in front so that he would know a familiar face and not draw his dagger.  

Tauriel whirled away from the confrontation with the Rider to get to Kili but Werrmund crashed the back of his hand to the side of her head in a ringing blow. Unprepared for it with her attention centered firmly upon her love, the hit stunned her, sending her sprawling to one side as chaos erupted in the hall. Two Riders took Werrmund in hand, forcing him to his knees before Lord Aeldklif who was shouting in Rohirric at the top of his lungs. Kili tugged backward, pulling Bain off step as the Dwarrow shoved low onto the young Man’s thighs. Bain’s legs weren’t expecting the sudden weight, folded at the knees, tilting his forward. Kili pulled left, shaking off Dorlad as he ran to Tauriel crumpled inelegantly on the stone floor.

Taking her cheek in his hand, he examined the other. A thin line of blood ran from a small cut at the upper side of a delicately pointed ear. “Lord Aeldklif, I demand this Man’s life!” Kili bellowed, while gently tucking her face against his chest. “For his offense, I want his body staked before me. His living body hacked by my axe so that the entrails can be wrapped around his neck to murder the breath from him. Everyone shall know his ruin was the price for the slander and assault upon my One!” Kili’s anger rippled up his back making him bristle like a hound with bared teeth.

He was every inch the King’s Justice, a Dwarf maddened not for the sake of the kill but the words and actions of a petulant Man. The hall sucked the life and words from the air as everyone watched, be they common or soldier. This would never be tolerated in Dale, nor in Erebor. Striking another in such a manner even a shieldmaiden would warrant the loss of a hand at the least. Tauriel looked at each for the reactions to her lover’s rage, standing now to take his hand in solidarity. Aeldklif watched the pair for a moment as if judging the situation between his soldier and Kili. There was resolution and some anger amongst the Riders, but the Lady of the Keep had a closed expression, taking a step forward to speak.

“ _My Lord. The Rider Werrmund has insulted Lady Tauriel, a good Elf who has come to our defense these last four years_.” The Lady walked to Tauriel, giving her a nod before pointing an accusing finger at the held Rider. “ _He is of our blood, a son of a Marshall of great renown, yet his actions today turn foul. I never thought I would see a day in this land that I love where a Rider of the Mark would act with so little restraint to a lady of the Hornburg. My lord husband is wise in his judgements, fair to all who sit at his table. A wife could never ask for more blessings from Bema than that_.”

The Lady Alfgivia bowed to her husband who bowed his head in return. She had said the right words and gave her opinions in a place where a woman’s thoughts might account for little. She had pushed for Tauriel’s defense while brandishing a fist at Werrmund. If what Dorlad said was true about the young Lady Lifa having a tendre for the Rider Werrmund, her lady mother was not in favor.

“ _It is I who was assaulted, it will be myself that takes the challenge_!” Tauriel stood, her body huddling into the Dwarf. Bain could see that her hands, that light touch, was all that kept him still.

Aeldklif was angered at the corner from which he had been shoved, viewing their world with a boiling look. The Riders whispered among themselves with angry or disgusted expressions. Bain had no clear picture of who exactly was for whom, only that the Eoreds were rather split on who they favored in this outcome.

“ _This Dwarf issued the challenge in your stead, it will be he who champions you, my Lady Elf. But it will not be to the death, to first blood only! A Prince of his house and the son of the First Marshall will fight for honor’s sake not blood lust_!”

 

************

Nori and Bombur’s Tavern was a lively place. In light of the celebration tomorrow night for the reunification of Dale and Erebor, red and gold dragon kites had been hung from the ceiling in gaudy hilarity. Beneath the tacky decorations, the hustling wait staff slipped thinly through packs of Dwarves that clogged pathways in and around the central bar. Good food combined with good company had ensure that this was popular venture amongst the miners.

On the road, the star haired Dwarf had struck Olrun as a lurker, someone that hid in dark corners waiting for dark deeds. He had been loud with Vigdis on occasion where her brother Olgr had felt the need to discuss one night with concern. It was obvious that Nori was trusted as a member of Thorin’s company yet for all that, he was always on the fringe. The strange quiet one who watch with a ready smile and blended into walls. Where might he have developed this talent for being everywhere and no where. Olrun realized this Dwarf peeled scandals from others in a manner akin to fruit. Really what better way to learn someone’s secrets than to get them sloppily drunk? None can withstand a good malted beer and the relaxation it leaves in its wake.

It was good malt beer, Olrun allowed as she took another sip. Skuld and Vigdis sat across from her, quaffing their mead and picking the food they liked from a large platter in the center of the table. Two daughters of Linnar’s folk, cousins and each with as different personality as night was to day. Each possessed the honey brown of Broadbeam stock with scarlet shot in various curls while Vigdis possessed more of the red than her cousin. Vigdis had braids tight to the skull with only her family braids loose to her shoulder. The beads and clasps were Iron Hills stamped, leaving none no doubt her origin. Skuld’s plats were softer almost flirty with a double weave, Olrun decided to have a discussion later with her about it where not so many ears could listen.

Thorin Stonehelm bellied up to the bar with a group of soldiers from the front gates, far enough away for comfort. His presence had been irksome, angry that he had been left out of her conversation with Urd or Willa the healer as she preferred to be called here. Somewhere in the short paths that looped thorough his mind, Dain’s piglet felt entailed to whatever she was apart, following her like a dog and herd her back to the Iron Hills at the first opportunity. Dwalin’s expression when they passed earlier had been frightening when he saw her shadow. The idea of slipping him valerian was becoming more and more attractive.

“So girls, let us begin.” Olrun forked a piece of roasted venison and cranberries into her mouth as two pairs of pale green eyes gave her their full attention. So alike, yet so different.

“I am enjoying my visit, my lady. Especially now that the pressure is off for me to be a bride.” Skuld looked at her cousin with a mischievous grin.

“Skuld!” Olrun scolded with a laugh as Vigdis hid her face away. She reached to place a hand upon her niece in consolation. “Vigdis cannot help the situation, and really, dear niece hiding in your room isn’t going to change the little Dwarrow. The King has said they will talk to him and find out the why of his actions.” Turning back to Linnar’s daughter, Olrun asked. “What were your impressions to the Dwarrowdam?”

“Caught up neatly or so anyone thinks but honestly, that ‘dam is as mad as a Harad Coney and just as paranoid. Getting her out of that room will be a problem.” Skuld drank from her tankard as she looked around the open area. “She kept trying to ask Eir about the Chancellor to which the Scribe said very little. Lady Eir has been hiding in remote corners of the Archives to avoid that ‘dam who was so free with herself next to your Dwarrow.”

Olrun rolled her eyes at the comment. She grinned to throw off the Stonehelm who turned their way. “I spoke with cousin Urd this morning. She has a most interesting thought.” Vigdis and Skuld leaned in with anticipation bright on their faces. “Really girls, put your back in the chairs. Such a display looks as if we are plotting.”

“We are plotting.” Skuld picked up another piece of jerked meat from the platter to plop it in her mouth. “Why cannot..”

Olrun cut her off quickly. “We cannot invite the whole Kingdom into our confidence so why give them cause to suspect us. Skuld, keep your teeth together and listen.”

Skuld withdrew into herself, upset that she had made a misstep. It was a learning process but Olrun felt that she had been further along in understanding of a court’s mechanics at a younger age than Skuld was now. “I mean you no harm, Lady. This has been a huge undertaking and you bear the brunt of it.”

Vigdis looked contrite as well. “It will be all of necks if our plot is discovered. But Aunt, you have the most to lose.”

“And the most to gain if we succeed. Whether or not I fail isn’t contingent upon my claiming of that hardheaded Dwarrow. I do this because I want the Athane to know she might trust us, that there are Dwarrowdams worthy of her regard and will fight for her position. The ‘dams here have soured and I blame her not for caution.” Olrun sighed for a moment as she looked at the table top. “The Queen left what she knew for love of a Dwarf. She lost her home and almost her family due to Dwarves. She has more courage and heart than we can know.” Looking at the young ‘dams before, Olrun steeled herself. “You may go back to the Iron Court if that is your wish or you might stay and be apart of something truly magical.”

The young Dwarrowdams looked at each other with a chuckle. “Practice that in the mirror this morning, Aunt?” Vigdis snarked with an answering smile. “Of course, we are with you. Now where is mom? She should be here for the planning.”

“Down with the sounder, she was taking them outside today.” Olrun breathed a sigh of relief, especially now that they understood what was before them. These two ‘dams would help shape the future of the Mountain, hold things together in the coming years as they themselves grew.

A chair at her elbow scraped back and an out of breath Willa took a seat. Her dark wine dress was the same that she wore earlier yet the Dwarrowdam noticed a suspicious tear at the shoulder that might be new.  The healer pulled leather satchel into her lap with a sigh as she nodded to the ‘dams present. Skuld and Vigdis had been appraised of Willa’s identity the night before so that when they met in public like now, there would be no surprises. Willa preferred to be called just that here, she had not given leave for them to address her any another way.

Olrun leaned to the side with a smile and delicately sniffed. Willa’s head snapped to Olrun at the sound, her hand frozen in the bag. “Part Warg, are we?”

Skuld and Vigdis looked affronted but Olrun merely laughed. “You don’t have to be Warg to recognize there is a distinct hint of….musk, on your person.”

The healer grumbled as she continued to search her bag. Vigdis and Skuld’s green eyes both widened at the implication. “I brought what we discussed.” She pulled a leather pouch from the satchel after much digging to find it. She handed the bag to Olrun. “There are two small bottles. You are going to need to douse the hobbit as well. He would protest most likely at the intrusion of a ‘dam in his bed and be worried that Fili will halt negotiations due to this….familiarity.” She paused for effect and smiled at Olrun who chuckled. “You will need a drop or two only per cup for sound sleep.”

Olrun pushed the pouch into a pocket of her dress, she would talk with Dis before proceeding but in her mind it was a sound plan. Drugging the Dwarrowdam might give some others a start and make them think that it was a bad idea. Some would say she was going too far, but when a Dwarrowdam was either a Queen or Pawn in a Dwarf court what was too far?

“Tell me ladies, would you care for another round? On the house this time. Your fine presence has bolstered my business today as all of Erebor has tucked in for a look at the fairest faces of our race.” Nori stood at Vigdis’ shoulder, winking in conspiratorial style. Her shieldmaiden of a niece threw back her head and laughed.

“That would be lovely, Master Nori and could you bring a cup for our Healer? She has worked up quite a thirst already this day.” Vigdis intone with a loud voice, giving weight to her laughter. Many a head swiveled and conversation died for everyone wanted to say they had heard the voice of the shieldmaiden who captured the young prince upon first sight.

Nori’s eyes darted to the taller woman with her flyaway blond hair and rosy completion. “The Healer of Dale who romanced Oin into debauchery.” Willa’s own eyes went round with shock as she started to sputter but Nori got there first. “My lady, I tease. Oin wouldn’t know sin if it bit him under the chin.”

His braided eyebows wiggled at her but he took note of her blush. If Nori thought something amiss by her behavior, he said nothing more. “Are you glad to be off the road?” It was a simple question designed to pull his attention away from Willa and her morning escapades.

“I am, my lady. Though I imagine that you are not.” Nori gave her a wink before hiring off to get their drinks. He was right, Olrun thought, the bar was louder now.

“I’m off. That Dwarf sees more than I want him too.” Willa scraped back her chair to leave but Olrun put a steadying hand upon the Healer’s arm.

“Make sure you bath, cousin.”

Willa grunted at her before leaving, darting around the Dwarrows who were not quick enough to suit her. Olrun chuckled along with Skuld and Vigdis as they watched her. Vidgis herself might have memories of Urd as a child as Olrun recalled it was Willa’s brother that got her niece in the most trouble. The year they dumped a barrel of toads into the hall was one of the best memories that Olrun possessed. Vigdis couldn’t sit down for a day after Olgr took a belt to her.

Nori slid into Willa’s vacant seat with a pitcher of mead. “Oh! She left. I hope it was nothing I said?” The star haired Dwarf began to refill their tankards with a laugh. “I have gold upon them marrying before two more full moons. I will probably lose the bet I have on you if that was a love potion she gave you upon arrival.”

Olrun laughed nervously while casting a look to Vidgis who shrugged. “I don’t need a potion to make Dwalin want me.”

Nori leaned close to speak in a low tone. “No, but you need something for the Stonehelm to go away.”

The strawberry blonde ‘dam sighed with annoyance. “Yes. I want ...”

“You want to claim him, don’t you.” Nori sat back in the seat. “The longer you wait, the harder it will be. He will tighten the noose about your neck if he senses you are about to fly away.”

He hadn’t said anything that she didn’t know herself. Time would begin to slide away and before too long, Ravens would arrive from the Ironfoot. Maybe sooner, if he walked through her rooms at the Iron Court. Hopefully, Vigg her nephew would prevent this from happening but still, if there was no claiming before her summons to return, Thorin Stonehelm would tie her aback her sow and tug her all the way back. Dwalin would be lost, her world would be lost.

Olrun looked up to see Thorin Stonehelm talking to a Stoor Hobbit that he seemed to know. Olrun remember that the Hobbits used to come to the Iron Hills for weapons. “Nori, how often would you say that the Hobbits come into your tavern?”

“Bofur and Bombur said it was about every night one of them would float though.” Nori looked at her slyly. “Why, future cousin?”

Olrun winked at him. “Could you maybe slip something into their beer?”

It was a gamble to ask, a gamble to trust. Vigdis trusted this Dwarf, had trusted him upon the road, so why not? Olrun stared at him, on needles to see what his reaction might be. One of them could do this thing at greater risk, but Nori was in the best position out of any that she knew.

Nori threw back head in hilarious laughter. “Why are you slipping a love potion into their beer?”

Olrun withdrew the leather pouch from her pocket, untying the laces under the table top and withdrew one of the vials. “It’s valerian extract. I need them to sleep.”

Nori looked at her with a questions dancing in his gaze but he took the vial from her. “I can do that. But why am I doing that. There is another vial in that pouch.”

“The other is for Lady Herja, daughter of Braedi.”

Nori gave her a hateful smile. “I’m your Dwarf, my lady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look for the next update on Tuesday.. I suck at fight scenes and I have some of it written but not as much as needed.. I swear, it just gets longer and longer lol.. I was shooting for 6000 words, came in closer to 9!  
> Mae g'ovannen – greetings.  
> I know that there is at least one statue at Helm’s deep that his Helm himself but there was a broken one on the other side of legs only. I wrote that it was Eorl yet there was no research to back it up.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And if we should die tonight  
>  Then we should all die together  
>  Raise a glass of wine for the last time
> 
> Calling out father oh  
>  Prepare as we will  
>  Watch the flames burn auburn on  
>  The mountain side  
>  Desolation comes upon the sky
> 
> ~ Ed Sheeran - I see Fire ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok.... lol the first part is Balin and Dis
> 
> The second part is the fight between Werrmund and Kili.. 
> 
> Warnings for Gore and sexy times.. 
> 
> Rohirric is in italics due to amount of it.

_Late afternoon at Erebor...._

One Advantage females throughout life have had is that the little boy in males always remember a time when the female was all-powerful. It was the basis for the ideal of the Dwarrowdams in their lesser numbers having control, their hands were the ones that rocked the cradles. Whether Dis knew that fact when it came to her sons was uncertain to Balin, knew not if she had presence of mind to bend their wills to her own. The Princess who had been born in golden splendor grew to adulthood in bleak conditions on the outskirts of villages before Thorin’s Halls had been founded. While there had been ‘dams to help with her early childhood, there had been none of that for her once Fili and Kili were born. Her support system had been quite the reverse, Thorin, Dwalin and some of what would be Thorin’s company had help Dis raise her boys. Having that amount of masculine company, may have changed her perspective.

There had been Dwarrowdams in Ered Luin, commenting of what they had lost in the Dragon’s attack of their home. Dis had not participated in their rounds, nor pushed for any type of social change in Thorin’s halls. But he knew that she had agreed in private that some of the traditions should hold once their people established themselves in the region. Balin could see Dis leading the Dwarrowdams here to more of an equal platform on the council and the guilds but her opponent would be her child, Fili. She was many things in this world, prideful, driven but her sons were her life. She could never hurt them intentionally.

Balin found Dis at the Great Balcony, overlooking the wide plain that stretch out in frost sparkled beauty to Dale. Her gray streaked black hair fluttered in the afternoon breeze as the grey fox fur collar brushed her cheek. The bleak look on her face melded with the dark cloak as one of ravens might squelch its head against the cold. The thick clouds, heavy with snow had drifted to the south, dumping a good foot upon the Long Lake. Personally, he had wished for the snow, it made travel challenging if a Dwarf of say the crowned family thought to escape.

He was no fool. Only the worst fool, stood between a mother and child but this situation was differently difficult. This was the King and Queen of Erebor and the King’s mother. The axis of which their world turned, any disagreements would shockwave into the Dwarrows under the Mountain worse than a Wereworm. If what Dwalin said was true and Thorin Stonehelm had secreted himself into Erebor, it could leak back to the Iron Hills. Dain would be on their embattled doorstep in a minute if he thought he could get something out of it.

He had not seen the Iron Court Prince up close but he might send Eir to investigate. She had been in the company of the Linnar’s daughter yesterday and have a closer opinion to this situation. Eir had become invaluable lately, not only for her hard work but opening a tide of information from the Lady Herja’s quarters. The quarrelsome ‘dam refused to settle and take the punishment she deserved, prompting Fili to extend her time in seclusion another week. The Lady Herja had again and again sent requests for an audience in the most blatant terms that were rude in the extreme.

“How fares the Princess of Erebor this day?” Bain asked when Dis refused to look at him. It bothered him that she looked so low.

“I have hurt my son, Balin.” The words were uncommonly weak, it was eating at her that Fili had been so angered.

“You over exaggerate. The King was simply giving a start, a thought from a different avenue. He would never have imagined to go this far, though. Fili and Sigrid would have let Fian find his love in his own time.” Balin knew in his heart that it was true, the royal couple would have wanted their son’s happiness. But in some ways, Balin agreed with Dis.

The concern of late with the half blooded children was arising in quiet corners. The old guard tried to say they had to be products of Iron Longbeards, not believing that Erebor Folk would lay with women from Dale. Many talked over a pint and said things they wouldn’t air in council chambers, especially in front of their Thane. With Nori back, Balin hoped to have a clearer picture of the main supporters of either side in the argument. Once Prince Fian ascends, it will be important to know how might stand against him, Dwarf bride or not.

They were the children of the mountain these biracials, with bones of rock just like any Dwarf living. If he had to guess, Balin would say that the young were offspring of the late arrivaling Dwarrows, the ones just of age. They who had grown up in the Iron Court and at Ered Luin had some contact with females but never this free. In other places of their world, Dwarves would never have been considered as bedmates. It was a new experience for all involved.

“I am ever the realist, old friend sometimes to my sorrow. But seldom to my regret, as now. You did not see the look on his face.” Dis sighed long with true anguish. “I want peace for this Kingdom and security for my grandsons. The price for these luxuries was my son’s confidence in me.”

“It will come, peace and security and love. This court is strong and yes as the old guard shifts into retirement, the ones leading the way will be more tolerate without the old hates.” Balin smiled at her. “Fili will do right by us, dear Princess. He survived Thranduil, fought off a Dragon in Lake town, Orcs and other fell beasts. He even set Dain on his ear!” Thorin was the hardest to defeat, Balin thought, fighting against someone you love is the worst battle.

“I knew the risks of my treasures following their Uncle. Dwarrows value gold while the 'dams treasure the children for the pain we experience during the bearing and birth of bringing them into Mahal’s grace. When I saw the love Fili bore a daughter of Man, I rejoiced for he had found the other half of his heart.” Tears sparkled in her eyes at the memory, washing them from darkest storm to pale sky blue.

“You never saw forward that it might mean to the succession? I wondered then as I wonder now why you were in such intense favor for it.” The days of Fili and Sigrid’s courtship and been a wide point of speculation as many Dwarrows had been against the marriage. But Dis, his mother and Daughter of the Royal House had stood them down at every turn.

“I wanted at least one of my sons to be happy, to have a great love of their One. Kili… I lost him, Balin. He had sunk so low in grief for that Elf that nothing could reach him. I kept thinking as each year came and closed that he would come back and be himself again.” Dis wiped her tears away as she continued. “But he didn’t. Dain was never far on the horizon, we would need the help of Dale and their Elvish alliance if the Ironfoot returned. Bard will never look away from the Mountain with his daughter on the throne and his grandchildren running the halls.”

Bain breathed deeply, not wishing for the journey down the path to the ‘whys’ of Kili’s grief. He took a different track. “They are your grandchildren as well.”

Dis looked at him squarely, austerely reminding him of Thorin on his better days. “And I will give them every protection I can. None shall lay a hand upon those children while I live.”

“They will need all the protection they can get. For you have tweaked Dain’s nose by wooing away his risrithî. His Dwarrows are one thing, Olrun is another.” Balin had concerns, serious concerns about this venture.

But he had a chance with his One, Dwalin should have the same. Life was not always fair, never giving but taking when there were those who had nothing left to give. Dwalin had walked in Thorin’s shadow, cleaving his way through Orcs and Goblins. His brother had kept his honor in spite of his heart, following Thorin wherever he led. Balin would not have faulted the big Dwarrow had he chosen love but Dwalin himself would have, hated himself and his love for those forty years that Thorin might have been vulnerable. Things had turned for the better, now Olrun was at Erebor, Dwalin was happy. But there was still the Ironfoot and his grasping obsession.

Hopefully, Kili was finding his Elf, Balin thought. Tauriel had been kind to them where others had not. He remembered the two talking to each other in the Mirkwood Jails, heard their quiet laughter. Balin was still shocked when Bofur had let slip that Kili had brought her to the Lonely Mountain, gossiping that he thought they were courting. But the surprise he had felt at Bofur’s drunken ramblings was nothing to what he saw on the Overlook that horrible day. That Thorin could do something so alarmingly bestial to his sister son and the Elf stunned him for days after. The saddest part of it all was Balin had seen the braids at her cheek and knew that Kili had found his love.

“Let Dain come for her!” Dis growled, funneling her despair into a target. “We are not so low in number that he cannot be repelled.”

Bain looked at her sharply. “I wondered if you started this situation as a means to bring out the fight in Dain. You have never forgotten nor forgiven, have you?”

The look she gave the chancellor was pure Thorin, or was it Thrain? The erstwhile son of Thror had never sat the Throne of Erebor, it rankled his pride more than it should. Balin had been of the mindset that it was only Thorin who had been the audience to his father’s rants of what they were owed by the Iron Hills but apparently Dis had her share too. Durin’s folk waring with each other had not been wise years ago when the Dragon took the mountain, it was less so now that Fili sat the Throne.

 _Loyalty, honor, a willing heart. I can ask no more than that_. Words spoken with honest commitment, Balin thought to himself that night at Bagend. But words only. Such flimsy things are no match for what Thorin himself could not control. A young hobbit that signed on with their company via the will of a wizard had been privy to the foulest of Thorin. Things happened that Balin couldn’t stop, that shamed him in nightmares. The road to Erebor had been laid with the most honorable of reasons, but even the mighty Oakenshield could not fight that which he could not see. His own heart and the blackness inside.

A life of peace and plenty they had at Ered Luin but in the end the Blue Mountains were not the gold of his ancestors or their Mountain hall. So it could never be enough for Thorin Oakenshield, it wasn’t his homeland. No matter that his sister sons had no memory of dungeons deep or caverns old, their place was far away to the east and the son of Thrain would see them there.   A place of pale enchanted gold that dwelled where dark things slept, it awoke the madness of Thror’s bloodline.

“I want you to consider something, Dis.” Balin dropped formality for once, speaking plainly. “Think you on coming to Khazad dum with me.”

The Princess looked at him with startled incredulity. “Are you mad?”

Balin chuckled to himself, thinking that out of the pair he was the most sane. “Not a whit, my lady. This storm between you and the King and Queen is the first of many. You want to help but it is in your nature to lead, to fight for what you want. The Queen is finding herself and will be a strong Athane if you let her. So either you cut the apron strings or you will strangle her with them, because we both know at some point you will standing out here brooding again over a fight between what you think they should do and what they want to do. That isn’t good for any court.”

“Would you have me give up, give out or give in, Balin? I know Sigrid is Queen but she isn’t ready to be on her own with all of this!” Dis looked at him, still laughing at his mad plan. “What would I do in Khazad Dum? Knit with Dwarrowdams? I think not!”

“And I am not saying leave tomorrow, because no she isn’t ready now! But in a year…. You would be head of the Dwarrowdams in Moria, a Princess of the Royal house with a Kingdom she doesn’t have to share with a Queen.” Balin chuckled as Dis looked over the plain in contemplation. With Dis on his side, the expedition would have a very vocal supporter. “Death and worse happens in those deeps, only Orcs have lived in such a cursed place.” Balin told her with a sad smile. “It will take much to oust them from their lair. But once we do…It will be a Delf worthy of a Princess.”

“My grandfather died in Moria, my father lost himself.” Her face took a solemn cast as she turned to him once more. Dis told him finally. “What could be worse than death?”

Durin’s Bane, Balin thought with hesitation for the first time.

 

***********************

_Nightfall in Rohan_

Dorlad, Kili and Bain walked the grounds where the fight would be held. They knew not the terrain as Werrmund might, seeing now a gentle slope or a pothole in the fight would be crucial. He didn’t intend to loose in part to a faulty step. Dorlad made comments about Werrmund and Riders in general, their physiology. After so many years in the saddle, many of the Men complained of tight soreness at the base of their spines. Even with his young years, Werrmund would have spent at hours in the saddle daily from the age of four or five to train for battle in Aldburg. He might have the same weakness at the waist and was almost certainly bowlegged with the possibility of weak knees.

Men came, lugging dried blocks of moss and plants for the pits across the Deeping stream inside the Deep proper. Tall torches were driven into the sand in a wide ring but left unlit. To the south of them was the Aglarond, a system of caves that Dorlad said wound through the White Mountains under the three peaks of Thrihyme. The Dunedain said that walls were lined with gems and veins of ore sparkled in the torchlight. Kili hoped to see it before he and Tauriel left. Whether or not Aeldklif was feeling generous after this night, the Dwarf might need refuge in the earth.

Kili had settled Tauriel in her rooms with the Lady Arnorra, leaving her in the young Lady’s care. Not because he wished it but because there was planning involved for this exercise. The Lord’s daughter spoke in slow Westron, giving assurances that his Elleth would be attended. His fiery maiden had not attempted to stop the challenge but supplant him as the fighter with several arguments. While her thinking was quite sound, he couldn’t allow it. Tauriel wanted to take this fight herself, avenge herself and spare him everything. He finally got her to understand that seeing her struck and fall stunned to the floor brought back that day at the Overlook. It was the same helplessness as Bain and Dorlad restrained him, giving him that feeling of being bound to the posts while Thorin drove an arrow in her leg. The explanation made her see, it wasn’t just the Man who struck her, it was also the demons from that long lost day that he was fighting.  

Lord Aeldklif might have had him tossed from the Hornburg for the trouble of the attack and challenge, but he cared not. For his love, Kili held her honor as his own and the rage he had felt at the strike to her person had overwhelmed him. The longer he stood in her company, the angrier he would be. Anger of that degree would grab hold and pull him under to a terrifying place where wrath bred in arctic dimensions. He had found a path and clawed his way from the same abyss, trying to not give into the hate because if he did, he would lose Tauriel. Not now but over time, it would be too convenient to reach for that cold empty place inside that quieted his world and narrowed his focus. In the end, he would dwell there and there would be nothing left of the Dwarf his Elf loved and loved her in turn.

Kicking away a medium sized rock, he felt at war with his decision to separate himself from her at this time. It felt like abandonment in a lesser manner, that he wasn’t in her quarters holding her close. To feel her warm and alive in his arms was a balm to the worst of his crazed thinking. A leather clad fist to the jaw would still bruise along with the cut to her ear despite her Elven healing, a badge of pain. Kili had seen her fight Orcs, Spiders never slowing yet relentlessly attacking. She was strong, resilient but more Tauriel understood him. The more he saw of the marks on her skin, the harder it would be find the control for the fight.

Contests such as these were rare among Dwarrows, insults were a matter of taste and a given in meal times. Family groups were close and seldom broke into injury over thoughtless words, yet there were cases of an axe meeting the back of the head or knife to an arm. Fists were used to settle disputes and only in egregious cases were edged weapons brought out if a feud was born. The Lord had called for a fight until first blood, that could be as insignificant as a scratch to the hand or as deadly as a gutting. Watching the Man earlier, Kili understood that only his heart’s blood fountaining from his chest would satisfy the Rider.

He had chosen a long handled single headed axe that he had found the early in their travel, quite unlike the double headed affair that he hefted when necessary. It was Fili’s from their guardian days, the blade still as sharp has his brother had been. Kili couldn’t say why his brother had sent it but for this fight it was perfect. The sloping head filed to a spike for jabbing if the opponent was too close for a sweep of the blade. The backend of the head was broad, shaped like a war hammer and good for pounding. But for all the intricate details of the weapon, it wasn’t heavy in hand. The folded steel in the blade had been worked and reheated over the course of many months until the durability was unsurpassed. It was the second axe Fili had made and it was by far his best.

Kili trained as a stripling with Dwalin and Thorin, just like Fili. He knew the truth of steel, that movement was the key to killing with any weapon. A man could heave a sword around his head, but footwork separated an apprentice from a master. Lord Aeldklif had no wish to see life ended today, it could be a mess politically for him. This boy was of age in the realms of Men but he would be still a child in a Dwarvish Kingdom, cleaning swords and polishing armor. His twenty years of life was a fraction next to Kili’s eighty two.

Fear is another aid to the warrior, according to Dwalin. It was a fact this lad would learn if he lived longer than twenty one. Fear is a small fire burning in the chest. It heats the muscles, making a fighter stronger than he knew in order to things he never dreamed. Panic comes when the fire is out of control, consuming all courage and pride. He would panic at quick pain, Kili decided. A stunning blow to the face but not too hard to slice the skin. No, it wouldn’t do for the fight to end so soon.

A crowd gathered journeying down the stairs from the Burg to cross the earthen bridge that spanned the Deeping stream. Kili recognized Dernhelm, the Herd Master with another soldier that he had seen but didn’t know by name. Weland came, nodding and giving a smile to Kili and Bain. There seemed to be more Riders in favor of Tauriel and they were marked in their overtures while the Riders in Werrmund’s camp looked down their nose. None of the ladies came tonight, something Kili found a tad off. Dwarrowdams were not excluded from anything, especially the fight pits if they choice. They were expected to adhere to the same standards as the Dwarrows and many exceeded them.

Werrmund made an appearance with two of his cronies at his back, attired like Kili in a padded leather gambeson only. He carried a broadsword over his shoulder still in the scabbard. It had to be an heirloom weapon with the stylized hilt of a rearing horse rather than a rounded pommel that would be functional. A gift from his father, the First Marshall, when Werrmund left Aldburg no doubt, Kili thought, probably training for years so that he could heft the heavy blade. A smaller lighter blade would have been better to fight a Dwarf, Kili observed as he watched the younger Man laughing with his friends, but he didn’t feel as if he should point that fact out to his opponent. Let his pride do his fighting, damaged pride will hurt longer than a wounded body.

Tauriel crossed the bridge a step behind Aeldklif whose thunderous expression didn’t bode well. She spoke to him in her quiet manner and received an affirmation. Coming to his side, the darkness hid the damage to her face, pressing her right cheek to his in greeting. Bain took Kili’s axe from him, picking up the Elven spear he carried to give them some privacy. Taking her hand, Kili walked to a satchel he had brought with him. Dorlad explained that he was allowed a weapon and a knife for which he chose the axe and Tauriel’s blade. Since it was her’s by right, he felt he should tell her even if she had not remarked on it upon his arrival.

Taking the sheathed blade from his lower back, Kili explained. “This was found under the bed we shared in Erebor. I have kept it with me always.”

Tauriel took the knife, turning it over with a small smile upon her face. “It was a gift from Thranduil when I became Captain. It was not amongst my things that Bilbo retrieved. I had thought it lost.” Looking at her love, smiling at him still, she gave it back. “You have worn it in my stead, use it tonight since I cannot.”

The Dwarrow nodded as he tucked it back into the belt at his spine. With a quick kiss to the palm of her palm, Kili knelt to grab the satchel at their feet. “I courted you poorly, by Dwarven standards. No gifts nor contracts. It is true!” He told her quickly when she tried to argue. He took a wooden box from the bag, holding it out to her. “You are the One who holds my heart and you deserve all I can give.” Opening the case so that she might see, Kili continued. “I give you now the courting gift you should have received six years ago. As I carry your dagger tonight, I would not have you indefensible.”

Tauriel gasped as she took the blades from their nesting place, removing the velvet wrappings and the leather sheaths. Bain and Dorlad smiled too at her expression of happiness. A few of the Riders marveled and nudged their fellows as she held one then the other up to the torch light. Kili felt nervous as she inspected the weight and balance of each turning them one way then the other in her hand. There were tears in her eyes as she sheathed them and tucked them into her belt. Quietly, she took the box from him and handed it to Bain.

With the fluidity of her kind, she kissed him suddenly, deeply with unmatched delight. Pressing her forehead to his, she whispered, “I have no gift for you, my love.”

Kili let go of his smile, running his hands down her waist to push gently at her leather covered belly with his thumbs. “You have already gifted me, Ghivashel.”

Nothing else was needed to be said, for she had given him the only thing he might ever wish but paid the heaviest price for it. Their child, a son. He had come to accept his child as masculine in the last hours, praying and in his dreaming rest last night that their child found a place in the Halls, awaiting the unification. Tauriel’s breath hitched just a little, it would always be thus. They would never forget the first child, always loving him. There was room in both their hearts for more life in a land of their choosing. A home, children, their family. What might have been and could yet become, the past and the future combined.

Tauriel adjusted the knives in her belt, a thinner tooled affair than the other Riders wore. The tunic under her bodice was dark red that against the deep brown of her cloak and pants. The chill that set into the valley as the sun set was not so biting yet, making Kili thankful that he didn’t have to wear thicker clothes. Reaching up, Kili grasped the betrothal braids and brought them to them to his lips then his forehead. She worried, he could tell in the tense line of her body and the rigid cast of her posture. Twining her fingers with his, they walked together to where Bain and Dorlad stood, Tauriel stepping close to him for one last kiss as he took the axe from Bain.

Kili made mental notes of the small things of the Man as he began to swing his arms with the long handled axe. The boy had a long uneffected stride, ground eating should he run. He wasn’t coltish in his balance, Werrmund had a firm stance with thick muscles gained from years in the saddle. A blow to the legs would be ideal at a critical point.

“Eh!” Werrmund snickered at Kili as Dorlad came to the Dwarf’s elbow. “ _Give over little one, I will forgive your folly_!”

Kili snorted at Dorlad’s translation, giving the Rider and unpleasant smile. “I have three score and some years under the sword, boy. I will not meet my match in you tonight. This ..” Kili raised the axe higher than his eye so that the killing edge shown white in the torchlight. “was crafted by my brother, King under the Mountain and it has no equal in Dwarven Delfs. I mastered its use a decade before your birth.” Still giving him the unpleasant smile, Kili continued. “Know this, son of Man. _I_ forgive you nothing, however, nor shall I forget the matter.”

“ _Even the mighty can fall, Dwarf_.” Werrmund mocked, once Dorlad called the translation. “ _When you do, your Elf shall be my bedwarmer as I could never take Dwarf leavings for wife_!”

“ _None of that_! _You will show the respect to our Archer Master that she has earned these three years or you will have my blade to worry about instead of a Dwarven Axe!”_ Aeldklif roared at Werrmund whose face lost its bravado for only a moment until a fellow Rider murmured something in his ear. The annoyance flashed as three others join Werrmund who now ignored their Lord at the side of the fire pit.

The soldier continued to jeer at Kili, twirling sword and knife about his body in a fancy display instead of warming up his muscles. Had this been a performance, the Dwarrow would have mentally pointed out all the faults the play actor was committing but since this fool thought to do him harm, he abstained. Watching his feet and his movement, Kili judged this Werrmund to be right eye dominant. Leading off with his right leg, he carried the longer broadsword in his right hand. He had not the experience to have trained with both right and left hands, in case one was injured in a fight. This youngling knew not how life might be lost in the flash of misstep or the loss of concentration. A pampered boy raised by an indulgent mother but fostered here by an intelligent father if the gossip held true.

He had not planned to wear a helmet, thinking that it would cut his visibility. Kili knew he would always be looking up in this fight, but a hilt strike to the top of his head might stun him. Dwarven hard head or not, he didn’t want to take the chance, he thought as he pulled on his gloves. It was a plain affair with a low neck guard, no mithril or precious stones in the band work. Only the runes of his family, the Line of Durin.

Aeldklif walked to the center as all in assembly remembered themselves and prepared for the contest. A Rider walked the perimeter, lighting the torches until the glowing tips speared into the black proud night. “ _We are here to settle a matter of honor! The Rider, Werrmund, has struck and defamed our Master Archer and fellow Rider, Tauriel of Rohan, an Elf of Mirkwood_.” Some grumbled at his words, Dorlad spoke low for Bain and Kili to understand. “ _Kili, Dwarf Prince of Erebor, her husband under Elven rite, will carry her knife as the Lady’s champion. We allow this contest to first blood only. May Bema bless the righteous_!”

Kili circled to the right, watching Werrmund in the torchlight. He cut inward deliberately to close in upon his opponent, looking for an opening or force the Man into an attack. The long sword Werrmund carried would grow heavy the more he swung despite his youth. Kili knew not his training, whether he had learned to temper his blows to save his strength.

Werrmund saw him coming closer, charged an extra three steps with his sword high over his shoulder for an overhead strike. Kili didn’t want to take the blow on the axe, preferring to make him feel foolish and expend more energy. He stood, braced with feet wide only to slither right at the last second and drive the long handle of the axe into the Man’s rib cage. The air belched from Werrmund, flopping low as his sword point dug into the sandy floor. To emphasize his argument, the Dwarrow followed the blow with a hard jab of the axe’s rounded end to a spot just beyond the arm pit.

The Man’s sudden cry of pain bounced off the rocks as he swung his sword in a left hand swing at Kili’s neck. The wild toss of his arm would have cut into the middle of an Orc or Man of normal height. But to a Dwarf, Kili took two steps back quickly and leaned away. The tip sailed passed but the Dwarrow didn’t flinch, just watched Werrmund as the power he exuded pushed the sword around his body and opened up his chest to attack. Darting close, the Dwarf jabbed the metal bar of the axe into the Man’s hip, then used the axe’s handle to lever Werrmund’s hand up as the Rider tried to catch his arm. Pain, Kili decided as he watched his opponent gulp the air in a vain attempt to breathe through the agony, did not simply hurt. Pain also exhausted a person, sapped his soul, thinned his spirit. Worse, pain was tedious cry of the body trying to give up on what the soul really wanted.

The Man swung his sword back in level arc, but Kili had pushed his other hand aside, spun in a turn around Werrmund’s body with the axe against him. Werrmund tried to turn with him, to catch Kili in this mortal pirouette with a novice hacking motion. Stopping abruptly, the Dwarrow used the axe handle to catch the sword’s edge, letting it rack up the handle and stop under the sloped bladed head. Dwalin called it the thorned hedge defense, where the sword couldn’t be freed unless the wielder stepped back out of range. The sword would remain caught the hollow between the axe head and the handle until someone broke free or the axe holder lost his grip.

Werrmund realized his mistake and drew his knife to slash at Kili and force him away. But the Dwarrow was there, grabbing the hand with the knife to slam both into his chest as hard as he could. As the man hunched forward from the assault to area under his ribs, the Dwarf kept a firm hand on the axe with the trapped sword while shoving the gloved hand up to smash into the underside of the Man’s jaw. The soldier’s head snapped back as his eyes rolled in their sockets. He staggered back for a moment while Kili wretched the sword from his grasp then tossing it two feet away. The Rider, blowing from the mouth at the effort so far. He paced into a larger circle, trying to find himself but studying Kili the whole time.

The crowd’s roar meant little to him, though Werrmund looked too many of his comrades now for instruction. All he could see or hear was Werrmund, as it should be. Kili didn’t look for Tauriel or Bain, such wouldn’t serve him. Any expression or word would distract him, might make him stumble. The Man would take advantage of the slip and he would lose the ground he had gained or worse, his life. But the sad thing of it was Tauriel’s judgement in loving a Dwarf would be called to question, that a Man could be allowed to insult his love and he couldn’t defend her for it. Kili couldn’t have that, it was not to be bore.

Kili paced in concert with the Rider, knowing that had Dwalin or even Thorin watched this, they would be screaming that each second was a loss in the momentum he had gain thus far. If he waited too long, let Werrmund find himself then the tide of the fight would flow in the Man’s direction as Kili pushed himself to end it. The Rider had youth and a strong arm that he could see but no idea how to use it.

The Dwarf cut across again, close as Werrmund took a step away. He wouldn’t be baited this time. Not after his disastrous opening. The Rider did use Kili’s inattention to grab his sword from the ground, holding it out before him with both hands in a first attack pose. A sneer rippled over his lips, transforming his face into the living embodiment of hate. Kili had embarrassed him, a Man of Rohan was laid low by a Dwarf.

“ _I will cleave your head from your shoulders and use your skull as my pisspot_.” He stomped his feet into a Dipped Tree Limb stance where he raised the sword hilt to right ear in a two handed grip. The long line of the blade jutted out in angle that dropped like a laden branch.

Kili didn’t have to see that the knees were bent but the hip he had hit earlier would be in the lead. The broadsword had a binary edge, with both sides thirsty for Dwarven blood. A single edge is easy to defeat as the wielder cannot flip the sword around effectively without dropping it. A duel edge can cut both ways with minimum effort. Kili knew he had to hit that hip again hard to let the pain panic Werrmund out of attack into defense.

He smiled, just to goad the Man who sneered in return. Taking a different stance with the axehead up, Kili trotted towards him, slowly. He had proven that he knew how to hurt with only the handle, there were other parts that needed to utilized. Werrmund braced but didn’t move, adjusting his elbows by his ear higher and push the sword tip down. Kili circled a little to the left, then cut back to the right and ram the underside of the downward thrusting blade. Catching it clean, he slammed his open palm into the Man’s hip, making him stagger. Before he could recover his footing, the Dwarrow used the opposite blunt end to hammer the Rider’s knee.

Werrmund yanked his knife before Kili could defend, taking a slash to the gambeson’s padded front. The distilled quiet he felt so far released the noise of the onlookers. The loud talk he had ignored came back in high pitched guttural that he couldn’t understand. Only the Lord Aeldklif’s ‘Hold’ made any sense as he came to inspect the damage and decide if first blood had been sighted. Kili could see the sliced padding, exposed upon his chest but felt nothing save the beating of his heart. Her heart, he thought, it belongs to her and always had.

The Lord came to stand before him, carefully pulling back the tears. He looked close and laid each part bare to examine the body underneath. Weland, the Herd Master, walked the outside perimeter but he stared at Werrmund with a disgusted expression.

Aeldklif took a step back with a sigh. “No blood! More!” He stepped back to the perimeter with Weland but murmured the one to the other. He saw the glint of red hair in the firelight beside Bain but that was all he could allow.

Kili was disgusted with himself. Had that been an Orc, his life would be over. Resolved, he pushed off his helmet and tossing it aside. He was done with playing with this child of Man, done humoring him and his nasty personality. Better to end this now then another miscalculation cost him more than his own pride. He picked up his axe and stalked this prey with single determination.

He watched the Man, watched his swaggering step and knew just how the next bout would go. There was less grass at the midpoint with more of the spongy sand than actual dirt. Bain had slipped a little on the walk around, giving Kili the idea. Preparing himself, Kili took three giant steps backward until he was almost even with the torches, then with his axe aloft, he shouted Baruk Khazâd! and ran at Werrmund.

The Man took a step back in surprise then screwed up his face and charged as well, screaming in Rohirric. He held the sword high as he ran instead of low where his target might be but the power of the strike would be hard to deflect. Sprinting hard, Kili reached the middle arena before Werrmund as he took the heavy broadsword with both hands for the hit. When they reach a foot of each other, Kili quickly dropped to his knees and slide the remaining distance and slam the axe handle into the Rider’s waist, flipping him over the Dwarf’s head. The loud thunk and woof echoed as Kili angled to his feet and swung the blunt end of the axe at the base of the Man’s head. The blow was tempered but still hard enough to knock Werrmund forward onto his face.

Kili battled the blood lust, the aching strain to end this Man, to allow his body to fertilize the ground and be useful. Rage was factor in a battle. Dwalin always pushed him to learn, never to give into the wrath unless all was lost. It is only then when the end is nigh, that anger in a fight is serving. It is the last true resting place, the reserve when strength fails. As a Striping in training, taunts from older warriors had never bothered him as it had Fili. Remarks of his brother’s Stiffbeard coloring instead of the dark Longbeard looks, all serving to toss caution to the wind a push him over the edge. Yes, those years had taught him much.

Kicking aside the sword and yanking free the knife, Kili tossed it to Aeldklif’s feet. Werrmund groaned as he tried to gather himself and stand again. The Dwarf jabbed in the neck before rolling him to his back. The Man looked stunned as Kili took a seat on his chest, bracing is knees on Werrmunds arms and prevent him from rising. The Rider remembered where he was, yelled at the Dwarrow on his chest, trying to shake him off his body. There was the matter yet of first blood and it would be spilled.

“ _Do it, take my life_.” Werrmund growled and struggled from his pinned position upon the ground. “ _So that I might for hate’s sake, spit my last breath at thee_!”

“I think not. I shall spare you the benefit of a glorious death.” Reaching to the Tauriel’s dagger, he slowly withdrew the blade. “If thine eye offends, cast it into darkness.”

Holding Rider’s head down by his throat, Kili scored Werrmund’s face from the hairline across his leading eye, stopping at his brow. He would lose his sight and never fight as good as he might have before Kili took his eye. The screaming from the bloodied man intensified until the Dwarf knocked him out with a blow to the jaw. A fitting revenge for coveting his love. He crawled off the unconscious Man’s body to regard the stunned faces of the assembled. The Eoreds looked to Werrmund then back to Kili as if unsure of the correct course, even the Lord Aeldklif fixed his eyes to the Rider. It wasn’t distain but hesitancy at the blinding of his Rider.

Werrmund’s blood still dripped from the blade’s edge to the sand below. Turning the Elven dagger over and over in his hand assured that there still be some when reached Tauriel. Sweeping low, he laid the gory weapon at her feet, as the Riders continued to blow loud and gabber in ever rising discord. Bain took two steps by him, slamming the end of the spear into earth. Kili cared not at the blast of words Rohirric or broken Westron, none of their anger bothered him. This moment wasn’t for them at his rear.

Looking up the long lithe body to the wide eyes of the Elleth who owned him body and soul, Kili spoke. “I have defeated him. Your honor is avenged to my satisfaction. _For now_. Should any question arise to the right of these deeds, my axe will answer it.”

 

**88****88**

Tauriel took a deep gasp. Her body had forgotten its need for air as her love charged and fought again and again. He was strong, her lover, the holder of her heart, he was well trained in combat but still she feared. The gods could not be so cruel as to give him to her again then take him in the next sunrise. Oh not that cruel, Iluvatar, creator of life.

Kneeling down to him, Tauriel took the dagger as she looked at Kili. Swiftly, she plugged the blade into the sand. “Kili, son of Vali, Durin’s Folk will rejoice in this telling of valor. Your deeds will echo in the great Halls as worthy of remembrance.” Looking down at the dagger between them, she continued, reaching out with trembling fingers to caress his beard. “Let the earth of Rohan cleanse this tainted blade. None will gainsay you for the actions that caused you to wield it for my honor and your own.”

Kili yanked the dagger free, quickly wiping the clotted dirt from the metal. He pushed it into the sheath at his spine as he took her hand in his. It would need to be cleaned properly but not now. Later, after her Kili was safe in her arms and her _Fea_ didn’t screech in alarm, could she allow him leave. Clenching his hand, Tauriel led him back across the earth bridge to take the back stairs into the Hornburg. The crowds parted for them, many bowing their heads or looking away. It was not for Tauriel to speak, nor did she acknowledge them. The business of Werrmund had been known to all in this place, while none saw fit to disabuse the Man of his notions. No blame would be laid at Kili’s feet, she would not allow it.

She had a specific destination in mind, a place he would enjoy and where she had come when she was the most lonely. In her dreams alone had them together in this place, now it was an opportunity for it to become reality. Unable to release his hand, she led him, wanting him close and never let go. Taking a torch from the wall, the warren of corridors and short alleys opened to an oft room just by the Lord’s chamber. Tauriel had deliberately taken a winding route to avoid the fortress and its people. Striding inside quickly, Tauriel closed the door but didn’t bar it as it wasn’t hers. Never releasing his hand or the connection, she took the room in almost dancing stride. She handed him the torch to pull back a tapestry of a green field and white running horses to reveal an open portal.

Tauriel took the torch again as Kili pushed away the hangings to step beside her and peer into the darkness. “Where does this lead?”

Smiling at him, she plugged the light into the inky black as stairs wound into the rock. “Far from the maddening crowd, Melamin. Aglarond, it’s a system of caves under the Hornburg and a last retreat if the Keep is overrun.”

It was a winding stair but never so long. She had found it by accident and only after having, Lord Aeldklif’s permission did she return.   Kili stopped just before they reached bottom, running a hand over the wall. In the dim light, she could see his puzzlement as his fingers swept one way then another. Shaking his head, he continued but more confused than he had been. When she found the last step and her feet sunk into the powdery sand, did she turn to him. Kili face was awash in delight as he stared around the room.

Looking over his shoulder, Tauriel lit a waiting torch on the wall as the light filled the cavern. She did the same two feet away, content that he would follow. The yellow brightness haloed from the walls, illuminating a sandy beach with pearlesant lichen and glittering teeth hanging from the ceiling over a goodly sized pool. Kili looked in wonder, turning in as circle as if he couldn’t take it all in at one view. The gem encrusted walls sparkled, winking in the torchlight. On the other side of the pool lay the entrances to the rest of the caverns made long ago. This grotto was small, the Lord’s retreat, with steam rising like from the water’s surface in dervishes to met their end upon the gleaming fangs of rock.

Yanking off her cloak in impatient jerks, Tauriel pulled him close once more. Laying her forehead to his, her hands dug into his hair to hold him fast as he closed his eyes in gasp of longing. Her body quaked at the thought of how close Werrmund’s knife had come to him, the thought of the metal touching his skin made her physically ill. Here in this place, she could let go of herself. Here, where only Kili could see would she release the barriers that caught up her emotions.

“You didn't kill him. He would have killed you, but you didn't kill him." She breathed him in, touching what she could. It wasn’t enough, her fingers sought his neck, ripping the ties to his padded coat.

"I didn’t come here to kill him. I came for my Elf!" Kili gripped her hips to pull her closer still. “The fact that he dared touch that which was not his, to harm my love brought about my anger.”

What started as a soft nibble, a ballet of lips and tongue turned ardently intense. A kiss cloaked in desperation, like her world would slip through her fingers if she released his lips.  There was no small amount of hunger, the harsh denial of the physical aspect of their relationship she imprisoned behind tall high walls. As those walls crumbled to dust, Tauriel pushed away the gambeson, letting it fall to the sand as he disarmed his belt and hers. Passion foresworn erupted in torrid fervor as he tugged her beneath him as need sizzled down her spine. Kili swallowed her gasps as Tauriel tore groans from him, rucking his tunic up his chest to expose the Dwarrow that inflamed her senses.

Long, slender fingers skipped across the hills and valleys of his muscles. They explored the forest of black hair that covered Kili’s terrain, pausing here and there at scars that ravined the fields of his body. Lips followed, exploring the slope of his neck down into the ridge of a shoulder. The pain and hardship he had endured was mapped upon his soul, known and yet unknown. He was the same but also different and she would discover part and claim him as her own once again.

Kili rent the collar of her shirt, exposing her neck to his lips. His was not the only blood that had turned molten, the Elf was almost feral in her desire. The pain was fleeting when thick fingers tore the leather bodice from her, tossing it over a rock. She cared not, it was her wish to give Kili what he wanted. His yearning matched her own, both shaking with impatient craving.

Elves had always seemed quiet, stoic almost like a statue, coupling was in the same manner. The serenity of Rivendell was never splintered by passionate cries or moving furniture. Likewise, the Sindarins were not bothered with edgy appetite, or even a glancing touch. Silvans were different from other clans in that regard, wanting more, needing more of their partner than just on high holy days. Tauriel had countless times found a Silvan couple in coitus out in the forest or far enough downstream of the palace for privacy.

She weighed no more than a feather as he lifted her into his embrace, the feel of her naked skin against his own, pressed his eyes closed at the pleasure of contact. The heat of his body slickened her channel, as the Hröa gnashed at her with voracious craving. Her Fea chimed in concert with the steady drumbeat of her body as hands sought and found her Dwarrow. The fear and driving emotions left over from the fight were blown away by the hurricane force of her desire.

Pushing him to his back, she mounted him forcefully, digging her fingers for purchase at his shoulders. The claiming was so absolute, it dared him to fight her. Kili had no intention of doing so, his cry of need echoed through the cavern in an endless serenade of desire unchained. Shuddering, he crushed her to him as she began to move, her silken flesh a strangle hold upon his member. The kisses turned to nipping bites as their world extended no further than a sandy spit under Helm’s deep.

“Mine! As you are mine…” Pleasure so much and not enough rippled down her body to steal breath and prevent speech. So long, so very long since Tauriel had felt this drive of primal want.

“Yes,” he said, lustful urgency bright in his eyes. “I’m yours. I will always be yours.” Her lips on his jaw, on his cheek, her love fierce. “I will allow no rival to come between us nor take you from me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Risrithî – Khudzul word for Burn… I am using it for someone to lust after, I thought it fitting because Dain can’t have Olrun doesn’t mean he don’t have an itch!  
> Baruk Khazâd! – Axes of the Dwarves!  
> In Canon, the Longbeards were blonds.. Thorin, Kili, Fili, yet in the movie they were all dark save Fili.. I am going with the movieverse here because.. Dean o’Gorman is just yum.. I watched Young Hercules with Ryan Gosling.. OMG  
> for hate’s sake, spit my last breath at thee quote comes from Moby Dick.. and for you Trekkies, Star Trek II The Wrath of Khan!  
> The original quote from the Book of Matthew reads ‘If thine right eye offends thee pluck it out, and cast it from thee.’ I swear that quote popped in my head when I watched Two Towers a few weeks ago when I saw a soldier on the wall screaming and missing his right eye.. then I thought.. Werrmund.. I didn’t want anymore to think I am making a parallel between that unnamed guy in the movie is my character because there isn’t one. It is a funny side note to me. Werrmund dies but not before getting married and having at least one kid.  
> There was an article I read in college about some of the common aliments of cavalry men during the Civil War and up to the application of mechanized warfare. Spinal compression in the lumbar region was noted in several points due to the saddles (McClellan saddle OMG!)…  
> The Dipped Limb stance is about the same as the Ko Gasumi fighting stance if he had been using a Katana. It has the same look as a fixed limb just not as poetic.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In my imagination I see a fair world,  
>  Everyone lives in peace and in honesty there.  
>  I dream of souls that are always free,  
>  Like the clouds that fly,  
>  Full of humanity in the depths of the soul.
> 
> Translation of the Song Nella Fantasia by Il Divo..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEHOLD THE SMUT! LoL 
> 
> Not too smutty but love that tag..  
> You have Kili/Tauriel this chapter with POVs from the same.. Aeldklif.. hehehehehe
> 
> Dis/Sigrid

_Early morning in Rohan_

In the night, he had wrapped his body around hers, whispering against her hair. Tauriel was aware of his movement and comprehended his words, but she couldn't seem to open her heavy eyelids or speak. The contentment she felt went deeper than flesh, past the bone into _Fea_. It was the forever feeling, the cocooned sensation that every Elf dream to know but few found in life. But when an Elf loves a mortal, forever is reduced to a handful of years. Their forever was barely a grain in the shifting sands of time. As he slept, his heartbeat thumped slow and steady, lulling her. As she snuggled close to him, she decided that she never wanted to sleep without that sound again.

Shifting on their pallet of clothes and cloak by the waterside, Tauriel couldn’t say what pulled her from sleep. The soft drip of water from the ceiling, dimpling the pool’s surface in ever winding rings, or maybe a small animal watched them in curiosity from an unseen perch. Divesting herself of the tangle they had made, she padded to the water’s edge to dip her hand in the cool spring to drink. The torches burned low at her back, allowing the shadows to have dominion again.

Looking down at her thighs, the dark smudge of fingered lines crossed her pale skin in an overlapping pattern. There would be others down her back and flank, ones she couldn’t see. The marks she had left upon his body would not fade as quickly as an Elf’s might, lingering for days as a testament of that he belonged to her. Smiling and holding in her laughter, her Dwarf was a mighty bedmate and came to her with equal passion. Unreserved, he had loved her body thoroughly all through the night until exhaustion had defeated them both.

“Love?”

It was soft, heavy with sleep but the voice still hopped from walls to the ceiling and back again in the small cavern. Tauriel looked at him over a shoulder as Kili roused himself with a groan. “How early is it?”

Casting out her senses, it was difficult to gauge underground. “We have an hour yet before we must go. Bain will be worried and too your Dunedain.” His eyes brightened with interest as she stood. Naked as she was, his open regard touched every inch of her body.

Her Dwarrow pushed away the piled tunics and other things to reach for her. His bare form made her gasp in pleasure, for truly, it was magnificent. Squarely built, his body ringing in muscles down his chest and waist, contoured in a manner she found most pleasing. The pelt of black hair that covered him heated her blood as it brushed and caressed her skin in the night. Tauriel had call him Rwalaer once, but the name was more fitting for her than her Dwarf.

He knelt before her, circling her legs with strong arms and laying his cheek upon her thigh. Running fingers into his hair, she marveled once more at the exquisite texture of shorter strands. Tauriel found everything about him handsome and appealing, there was none who could take his place in her affections. His strong hands with their rough cast had given her wondrous pleasure at her breasts, ecstasy that a member of her race with their slender touch and fewer calluses could never have achieved.  The masculinity she had seen before the Dwarves came to the Greenwood had been trim with a lean hairless appearance, rather like a fish’s belly.

But Kili….Oh Valar…

He raised his head to look at her, a mischievous air about him. A grin spread across sensual lips as his hands rubbed down the back of her legs, heating her skin and blood once more. “Do we really have to go back now?”

“We should wash ourselves and return.” Tauriel looked over her shoulder at the pool, its water would be comfortable and warm. Her inner thighs were slick with his seed and her own arousal. “Longer absolutions would be unwise. Someone might come looking for us.”

Kili looked at the pale blue expanse behind her, easing around a leg but not letting go. “Watersport? What a naughty Elf I have for a wife.”

He picked her up by her strong thighs, though the difference in height had her feet dragging the sand until she crossed them at his waist. Kili stomped into the water splashing like a child, wetting them both. A sensation of something firm brushed her sensitive furrow, giving her a start. His male organ, Tauriel realized with surprise, but he couldn’t mean that they couple in the water. _Could he_?

*************

Charging up the stairs ahead of Kili, Tauriel laughed with abandon. He bellowed that a good wife would stay and assist her husband through his difficulties. By difficulties, Kili had meant the ever present needs that continued to eat at them both. There were no boundaries between them, nothing to stop the continuous want that liquefied her intellection, and his too apparently. While they had not devolved into mindlessness, Tauriel learned in exacting detail what Kili had meant by ‘watersport’.

The pleasant tenderness in her body made her laugh the louder for it, her _Hröa_ and _Fëa_ now in concert each with the other. Well loved, she thought with a genuine smile, yes, she was well and truly loved. In the water, upon the sand, she couldn’t get her fill of him. His hands, lips, every part tethered them into a union that was so much deeper than before. Finally, she had pushed a comb she carried into his hand for him to attend and braid her wet hair so that they might make ready and leave.

Tauriel remembered the emphasis his cultured placed upon the act, though all the meanings to it were unknown. It as soothing, he parted the mass of red, braiding only when it was closer to being dry than the other strands. The braids felt thicker than her normal ones, tighter still when he wound them to a central construction that went down her back. He snorted inelegantly when he finished, tearing a strip from his tunic to bind the long rope of hair at her back.

Gaining the top of the stair, she needed no light to find her way. She had travelled it enough she knew it by feel. Her love finally reached her, shaking his head in true grumbling fashion. Tauriel was still laughing when she pushed away the hanging and entered the room to see Lord Aeldklif still in a chair. Her voice died abruptly as Kili pressed her to the side and gained the room. He took a step or two in front of Tauriel, trying and failing to push her behind him.

The Lord held a block of wood and a thin hooked knife as he cut away sliver after sliver to make a long spine of some animal. His long gray blond hair was tied at the back of his head to expose his face. His tunic and pants were the same that he had worn earlier yet he carried no other weapon. Beside him on the table lay a pouch of thin bladed knives that he used for carving, rolled into a leather pouch. He leaned forward in the chair, bracing his forearms on his knees as he looked at them, together and singly. Tauriel waited for him to address her, knowing that he had been sitting here probably the long while that they were away.

Kili’s axe was propped by the door, its edge looked keen even from this distance. Looking back at to the Lord, his attention was held squarely at her neckline. “ _You are bruised. Was the Dwarf so rough_?” His brown eyes flashed in anger to take in Kili’s appearance as well. “ _If he cannot be civil to you_..”

Tauriel interrupted before anymore could be said. “ _He had leave, my lord, as I did though the marks upon his body are not seen_.” She could feel a blush warming her face, her eartips felt like they burned with her embarrassment. “ _Kili is more than passing civil_.”

It was Aeldklif who became embarrassed, putting away his knife while Tauriel explained to Kili beside her. She could feel her Dwarf bristling that the Lord assumed he could do her harm. That the Lord might realize that they had passed the night in each others arms was one point, it was another for him to know that they were energetic.

“ _I would speak with you privately. Ask the Dwarf to go to his quarters, Dorlad will meet him and bring him to me later.”_ Aeldklif tucked the knife into the bundle beside him and laid the wood to its side.

Tauriel spoke quietly to Kili. “Lord Aeldklif wishes to speak with me privately. If you would like to see to your pony, the grain wagon will be taken to the gate soon.” Kili looked at the Lord of the Keep and back to her. “I still owe my fealty here. Go please.”

Her love looked once more to Aeldklif then back at her for a moment. Exhaling long, Kili took her hands in his, kissing the palms as she leaned forward to touch her forehead to his. “I don’t like this, but all right.”

With a quick kiss, he released her. Staring at Aeldklif, he walked the room to take his axe from its resting place and lay it over a shoulder. Tauriel found herself smiling at his retreat, and the smile became wider when she caught Aeldklif’s sigh of resignation. The Lord flopped back into the chair, making it groan under his bulk. He wasn’t so large but the heavy muscles did add weight.

Running a hand over his face, he asked. “ _Is this by your will that you take him again? You parted before for many years and now he is here_.” He shook his head but his expression was steady and neutral. “ _I saw the look on his face yester morn before Werrmund acted the ass. This Dwarf loves you greatly.”_

Aeldklif was a good Lord to the Riders here, having been brought from their ranks on merit instead of blood. His father had been breeder in the Westfold, a Man of Rohan and loyal to Edoras. His only son had rose much higher, whether he wanted to ascend to greater heights, Tauriel couldn’t know. He gave her his confidence along with Weland for that she was every grateful.

“ _I love him, just as greatly_.” Tauriel looked at the Lord, knowing this next part would be difficult if the wind blew ill in Kili’s direction. “ _I can never know how I survived these years without him. But I will not live through another parting. He is mine as I am his. We are one and the same.”_

Aeldklif laid his head back to the wall and for a few moments, silence reigned supreme. When he spoke, it was distant as if the conversation was something best forgotten. “ _Alfgivia said as much. She mentioned that Elves cannot live apart from their loved ones, always close to each other.”_ His gaze held her with steady force. “ _You have not spoken of why you left your forest or how you came to be in Rohan. I thought there was pain but never asked_.”

“ _That is both true and false. We love deeply but even long married couples will live apart for years. Some other races will sail to the Undying lands before their mates_.” Tauriel knew that the Lady Alfgivia was from Gondor but she knew not how much the Lady knew of the Elvish culture. “ _Kili and I lost each other, torn apart by his kin, Dwarves who despised Elves. The pain, you speak of, almost ended my life. But I have a chance for a new life with him, and I want all the years we have left to be happy ones.”_ Tauriel drew a deep breath to continue _,_ pushing away old hurts _. “Werrmund’s folly was that he knew not my love. Kili is a valiant fighter, but he is a Dwarf. They do not forgive, nor are they so merciful._ ”

“ _Mercy is the sweet and bitter at once_ ,” AelfKlif said. “ _For it rewards the merciful and shames the guilty. Werrmund will not thank your Dwarf for the loss of his leading eye and will now be a liability in a fight. I think it best if he goes home to Aldburg once healed_. _He has agitated things here overmuch_.” Aeldklif folded his hands over his tunic and stretched out his feet. “ _Do you wish to be released from service, Lady_?”

Kili and she and discussed this but not at length. Those decisions would be made together after much deliberation. With Mirkwood, Dale, and Erebor closed to them, the list grew thin of where they might live.

“ _I wish to have my Dwarf, my Lord. If having him means expulsion, then I would thank the Lord for his kindness and the hospitality of his home these last three years_.” Tauriel gifted him with a sad smile. It had come down to this and she was loathed to leave her friend.

“ _The Riders are stirred by the events of last night. If some had no feelings to Dwarves, they will fear him now because Werrmund’s idiocy and that could turn to hate in time_.” Signing again, Tauriel could see that he had not slept for dark bluish circles became clearer the closer she walked to him. “ _If they hated Dwarves, seeing Werrmund will only fan their hate to burn higher. His strike upon your person has healed I see_.”

Tauriel paused at his words, absently touching her cheek and up to the small indent of the cut upon her ear. If the Riders perceived him a threat to themselves, Kili would never be accepted. If they were on patrol and he injured, he could be left alone to die on the plain. Or if he was captured by Wildmen. The what ifs and could bes ran through her mind at a loop. Only when brushed the table close to the Lord did Tauriel realized that she paced in agitation, circling the room. Staring at the wall, it reminded her of Thranduil’s charge that Silvan’s could never calm themselves. A better explanation would be, they felt too much to stay still. With Kili and his safety, she would always feel too much to stand by. In the end, there was only one choice that would be good for all involved.

“ _We will leave, my lord_.” Tauriel’s smile didn’t wan. “ _Your kindness to me shall not be rewarded with disruption. I am sorry, deeply so that it has come to this. You will always have my friendship as well as my bow or blade. Call me and I shall come to your aid_.”

Aeldklif stood, walking to hand before her. He took her forearm in his large hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “ _I will miss you, my Lady. My Bema bless you with love, many children and swift horses. I would see you married by Rohirrim, not cloaked as it were_.” He gave a great belly laugh to which she smiled. “ _To the other, well. There are seasons of our lives when nothing seems to be happening, when no dust clouds in the sky from the stamp of an advancing army nor smoke blots out the sun because a village is burned down to the rock_.” The Lord of Helm’s Deep looked to the Elf, letting go of her arm but brought her hand to his lips and kissed it with fondness. “ _I have learned not to trust those times, because if the world is at peace then it means someone is planning a war_.”

*****************

Checking with Bain as the sun rose over the valley had been quite an explanation. Dorlad had laughed long as Kili tried to make his friend understand the whys of his and Tauriel’s leaving without explicit detail. While Bard’s son wasn’t ignorant in the ways of relationships, the Dwarf almost wanted their Dunedain companion to stop laughing and explain certain _needs_ their friend. As they worked side by side with the horses, Kili wasn’t sure he understood completely but he was done with the conversation.

“Aeldklif was waiting for us, Dorlad.” He brought the subject that bothered him most. “He wanted to speak to Tauriel alone. What is his mood, do you know?”

“Concerned. There was a bit of an uproar last night. Had you not chased your Elf, there might have been another fight.” Dorlad gave him a laughing gleam. “No doubt the Lady would have put those knives to use.”

Smiling broadly, Kili continued to work Warg’s legs as the pony ate his feed. There was what looked like a bit mark on his flank. “Have you been tangling with the stallion again?” Kili tugged an ear as he brushed out the mane. Looking around, Tauriel’s mare was not to be found nor was the large grey. “Will Tauriel have to leave her horse if we depart?”

“No, there is a close bond with them. See Weland there? He introduced them.” The Man pointed out to the Herd master as he rubbed down a pregnant mare. “Horses can’t be separated in that fashion, rather like lovers.” Again the damnable tinkle shown in his eye, but the Man refrained from further banter.

Once the horses were groomed and feed, the trio went looking for food until the Dunedain thought it more prudent that they eat in their rooms. He led the way to the Kitchens were he encountered the young Lifa and her mother, Lady Alfgivia. It was obvious they had walked into a quarrel but Alfgivia prepared a basket herself and advised them to go to the outer curtain with Lifa as their guide. Dorlad have her a long look but thanked her quietly. Lifa was not so polite, giving her mother an aggrieved look as they left.

Bain attempted conversation with the young girl but only received monosyllable replies. Dorlad took some cheese and beer from the depths of their basket once the reached their destination, chewing slow and savoring it. The morning sun cast deep shadows over the Combe as it burned away the morning’s frost. He had not been cold in the caverns, now he realized the water was fed by a hot spring somewhere. Lifa tossed the rest of her biscuit over the side, the view completely lost to her. Kili’s mood was too jovial to bear their company longer, the Lord’s daughter’s hostility was in each gesture and look as well as every word. This young girl would have to sit with her longing and know that destiny may not give her what she wished.

Taking a few pieces of fried ham and some biscuits, he left for their rooms and a proper wash. The bustling life continued as Riders lead their mounts up from the stable level. He noticed the lady Arnorra at the steps of the Hall, watching the progress of the Eored make ready to leave. Unlike her sister, she was most pleased to see him that is until a rider walked by with his mount that drew her attention back to the Men. Kili put hand on his chest in Elvish greeting to Dernhelm, whose attention flickered between himself and the Lady. Kili excused himself with a smile, knowing that look had been on his face once or twice after he met Tauriel in Mirkwood. Particularly when the Princely sprite was hopping in her wake.

He didn’t wait for Dorlad or Bain, hurrying back to their rooms for a cleanup and change of clothes. Later as he walked out of the guest room, Kili found himself turned around as the switchbacks of the stairs became confusing. He found a path that lead by the large open doors then opened into a rotund circular area as he tucked Tauriel’s blade at his back. Voices drifted from the open doors as well as stirring in a bed. A lady was speaking but in Rohirric, a language he still couldn’t decipher. The plaintive whine that answered Kili recognized as Werrmund.

“ _But I want the Elf! You said I should take her for wife and bind her to me. I can’t do that from this bed. Why can you not send her to nurse me_?”

A female’s voice that Kili realized with a start was the Lady Alfgivia’s answered in patient tones as if speaking to a child. “ _It is impossible now. She has taken the Dwarf. Were you to attempt such, it might kill her. I do not believe the words she spoke in the hall or it wasn’t all of the tale. The Elf would have died from grief after so long being parted from her lover. They are fragile that way_.”

Kili couldn’t help but admire the Lady for taking such as task upon herself. Her fortitude for assisting the Rider was both kind and virtuous as befitting a great Lady of the Keep. Obviously, the Lady Lifa was angered due to Werrmund’s maiming and blamed Kili for the act. Whether she knew the whole tale was for debate but the Lady Arnorra had been present yesterday, saw Werrmund’s behavior and sat with Tauriel afterwards. Surely, she would have told her sister, Lifa of what transpired in the hall.   

Finding the correct path was not difficult from the Healing hall, it was getting from outside in that turned him wrongly. Kili rubbed his chest as he tried to breathe past the sudden constriction. Only gone from her side but an hour or two and it felt like an eternity. Dwarves were known to be close to their loved Ones, spending weeks together after a marriage. The couples’ aftertime was met with hilarity by friends and family alike. Would she feel this same disembodiment, the same wanting? He could not crowd her, nor ever restrict her time. But he knew he would hate being away from her, even moments when they were required to be with others.

Dorlad found him as he wondered topside of the Hornburg, restless and wanting his Elf. Wordlessly, he gestured where the Lord stood with another Rider discussing a point in quite Rohirric. As they neared, the Rider with him bowed his head to leave but flash Kili a small smile and a nod of acknowledgement. Not all shared the Lady Lifa’s resentment which gave the Dwarf a measure of peace. The Lord had changed since last they had seen each other in the solar. The fresh wine colored tunic fitted him well, as did the leather pants. He wore the same wide styled belt and heavy boots as any guard might wear but Aeldklif didn’t carry himself with any airs except determination.

They walked the outer curtain, Aeldklif speaking to each soldier as he passed them. He was not an absent lord, taking the defense of the keep most seriously.   Erebor was thrice the size of Helm’s Deep with more room to spare, its garrison and training hall much much larger. Fili might not know who was standing the post tonight but he knew who their squad commander was. Dwalin had disagreed with his need for the information but watching the Lord now, Kili could see it was necessary. It was important to know the name of the individual who was laying his life down for his lord and their home.

The loud thunder of the Hooves crackled into a booming echo off the valley walls. Isen, Warg, and Daisy cloistered themselves near the stream, watching the others make for the outside grazing. There were a few that Weland were bringing up the Causeway for attention, one had a bad limp and probably needed a new shoe. Two were heavily pregnant, stopping every few feet and required soothing words to get them walking again.

The mares and young would leave in a week, hopefully with a few additional Riders to help them along their way. Nothing was decided but based upon the looks he had received and the grumbling comments in Rohir, his welcome was rescinded. Kili found he almost wanted to hate these Men for not seeing that the act and words of Werrmund were wrong. What would have happened to Tauriel had he not come now?

Dorlad was not far, staring over the wall to valley. The Lord stopped down the wall and pulled out a carving knife and the block of wood he had been working with in the solar. It was a tasked that required his attention as they spoke but Kili found he was very conscious of the knife in the Lord’s hands. When Aeldklif spoke he translated, sometimes verifying a word before finishing to make sure it was accurate. His smile was quick at some of the comments but so was his laughter.

“ _The marriage will be in two days. Tauriel had been good to my family. I wish for her to be happy_. _Since her happiness will not be here for me to see, we will talk about this now.”_ Aeldklif ran a hand over the battlements. “ _I find that you have made her unhappy, Dwarf, I will find you and take your stones as compensation for her pain_.”

Kili wanted to gulp at the words for the expression on the Lord’s face spoke that he meant each word in detail. He wasn’t one to piddle in meaning and neither was Kili. “Should I do so, my Lord, I will give you the blade. I guarantee you it will be much duller than what my Lady carries.”

The Lord of Helm’s Deep stared long at him, not in a menial way but appraising. The meaning of his words was clear, that Tauriel had decided to leave her post and told Aeldklif this morning. Kili would seek her out in the later afternoon and to discuss what had passed between them. It was possible she understood the tide of feeling had shifted against him and come to the same conclusion as he had.

Aeldklif snorted at him once Dorlad finished but held his hand to the Dwarf nevertheless. “She daughter to me. You will care for her. Be Loyal only to her?”

“Always, none shall eclipse her.” Kili griped the hand, not tightly for dominance sake, this wasn’t an enemy. The Lord thought highly of his love and sought only her wellbeing.

There was some back and forth between Dorlad and great barrel chested rider. He was gruff in his way but fair. The incident with Werrmund was not forgotten but he wouldn’t discuss it either. It was obviously done in his mind and would leave in the past where it belonged. Tauriel had respect for him, so Kili would give him respect as a Lord for it was apparent he was a good and just to his people.

“ _It is not loyalty and devotion that make up the stuff of anyone, be they Dwarf or Man. It is knowing who to be loyal to, who to love. Loyalty is not guaranteed in the Riddermark. Loyalty must be earned, the Riders to me and my loyalty to them_.” AelfKlif dug his knife into the wood, carving a niche for the leg as the front of the animal took shape. “ _To be the recipient of loyalty is a very sacred thing; and if recipients are unworthy, they must face the consequence. Blind devotion is submissive and a destroyer. Neither of which is the mark of a true Man of Rohan_.”

Kili agreed with him. Blind devotion had almost killed Thorin’s company. The wind blew in his face as he felt a slight brush of something else upon his thoughts, like a gentle touch of rose petal upon his skin. Looking to his left, he saw Bain and Tauriel walking in their directions, her scarlet strands lifting in the breeze. Yes, Kili thought, blind devotion was submissive but when coupled with love, it built instead of destroyed. Looking at her, he knew their foundation would be strong and so to would their lives together. There would be no stories nor poetry of them, for most would view it as a tragedy. But the love and happiness would be there until their last breath and the last beat of their heart.

****************

_Erebor, Early Afternoon._

There was much activity in the Water chamber as the ladies congregated there to get ready for the celebration tonight. Great screens had been brought so that they could change in privacy as Dori ran from Sigrid to Dis and back again. Pabbi was on hand with two Striplings in training as they made last minute adjustments to Sigrid’s gown. The Tailor’s guild had been working around the clock for the gowns to be at their best, but time was growing short. King Fili had pronounced that it would begin at sundown and he would meet Bard and the Dale party at the great gates for the official welcome.

Great tents had been brought and set up outside close to large bonfires so that the guests might stay overnight if they refused the residence halls at the south end of mountain. It was the last time such could be offered for the spring caravans would surely fill the last of the waiting rooms. The snow that had been threatening had passed by on a chilly wind, in all likelihood blanketing the Misty Mountains. The wintery night would be harsher for the cold but every precaution had been attended to ensure their safety and comfort of the guests.

Dis looked on with a fondness as Dori gave more instruction about the Queen’s gown as the children ran back in forth to hide from Blain. Sigrid’s dress was not the heavily stylized affair they had seen at Durin’s Day, nor as blatant. High waisted due to her advancement, the apple green dress was more elegance and suggestion than a physical slap of awareness. The slashed skirt and sleeves revealed cloth of gold and emerald muslin with a leaf pattern stitched in gold thread on the forearms. A large emerald choker adorned her neck to match the diadem that would go on her head along with enameled leaves to decorate her braids. If only she would sit still for the hair dressers.

A gold sheer lace train bound to the shoulders by topaz and emerald broaches would fall down the length of her back to end about a foot beyond the helm of her dress. The style of the dress was Elvish, though Dis cared not. It said, renewal, spring and hope. New life. In the darkest of nights in winter, there is always hope for a warm spring and new life to be born. Sigrid had not like to imply a message with her clothes, despite the Warrior grab she had chosen for Durin’s day but the whole purpose of the party was to provide unity with Dale. Like it or not, she was part of that unity.

There had not been much spoken between them so far and by the looks the Queen gave her, they would talk. Dis wasn’t sure of what would be said but the enforced silence was killing her. She had giving them space, not bothered them in their rooms. Dis had gone so far as to abide by Willa’s wishes and leave be until the Sigrid was ready for more. That was all she could do.

Balin’s request floated to the fore in her mind as she straightened the burgundy waistline of her dress. _Moria_. She had no doubt that one of the reasons he asked was so that she would support him when next he asked to go. It would come up again after this crisis settled itself and expansion plans went forward for the deeps.

“The Princess looks quite fetching in that color, if I may say.” A voice waivered from behind her, making Dis turn to see the visitor.

Olrun in a simple red dress with red and black patterned shawl looked stunning. Her braids were simple as well, a single plait looped into a bun at the nap tied with a silvery ribbon. The beads in her family braid were steel to signify her attachment to the Iron Hills while there were none to found in the rest of her coiffure. Her beard was braided forward to end in a lover’s knot at her chin, with a single steel bead to hold in place. It was signal to Dwalin that she was available and she would make a claim on him for courtship. The bead would go to him if he accepted her suit.

“My dear, at my rounded age, I am happy in anything. But I thank you sincerely, although we all pale before you in that dress.” Dis smiled as the Olrun blushed a dusty pink. Freckles popped long her nose as her face warmed with pleasure.

“I thank you, princess.” The strawberry blond leaned forward to whisper. “All is ready for tonight. Skuld and Lady Eir have volunteered. Vidgis and Olgr will take the questionable Lady to the appropriate room.”

Dis hated to admit that now at the end how she had despised the subterfuge, especially in light of the pain it caused. In another light, it made her little different than Herja for all her manipulations. However, there was no turning back now, they were committed and would see this last bit through until the last of it. Since she had not spoken with Sigrid in any purpose, the questions of the Lady Goll and Thrud as well as the others had not been solved. Lady Goll had been chasing Eir for the last few days with no success and had not tried to maneuver in Dwalin’s direction again.

“Good. One problem down,” Dis looked around the screen to Sigrid who was finally sitting for two of Dori’s people to fix her hair. “How much does Sigrid know?”

“Very little of the intimate details.”

“Leave it then, unless she asks.” Dis smoothed down the front of her gown to step away from the screen. “Never lie to her, but in the future, give her only what she asks to know in view of clandestines. As a member of the Queen’s court, your job will be to buffer her from all others.”

Dis felt the Dwarrowdam’s confusion but said nothing more on the subject. It would not do to tell anyone of her decision before her family. Olrun was practically there, but close only counted in _Runes and Ravens_ never in life.

“It will be as you say, Princess.” Olrun gave a shallow nod of the head and led to join her near sister.

Looking down at her dress, Dis had thought to wear black, like her mood. A deep color that would soak up all who looked at her and know she despaired. Yet, Dori would have none of it choosing the burgundy with jet beads in geometric patterns on the skirts. Dori was full of surprises and so was Pabbi who probably had several fingers in the dress’ development. But it was a stunning gown, and along with the small jet and garnet circlet on her brow, gave her a regal cast that to her felt borrowed. She didn’t feel regal tonight, she had hurt her family. Dis felt like a failure.

Looking across the room, Dis could see Verdandi in grey with a metal coif about her neck studded with jet as well. Jet was found in several pockets at the low rises to the west of the Lonely Mountain but there were larger quantities in the Iron Hills. Most of the fashions the Dwarrowdams’ wore involved metal and jet of some design. But Willa beside her would draw the most attention out of all save the Queen.

At her greater height, she was clothed in swaths of purple with a tuck here and there of lavender. Rose bushes on the wester slopes bloomed that shade, looking striking against the pale gray rock. Pabbi had worked that dress himself and would being high demand once it was learned he did it. Willa was indeed stunning. The young tailor handed her a necklace of silver links with a large amethyst at the end. It had belonged to Oin and Gloin’s Amad, they had found it once the mountain had been reclaimed. Though the jewel would hang much lower on a Dwarrowdam than the tall healer, it was gorgeous none the less.

“Ladies, if you please, Thanu Min will be with the council and Thorin’s company in the Gallery of the Kings.” Sigrid took a step down from her dais, her arms out. “I suggest we all attend him there. Amad Dis, a moment.”

The Striplings, tailors and Dori quickly gathered their things to do as the Queen bid. The ladies walked slower with a stiffer gate, concerned about what would happened to the King’s mother. Sigrid cleared her throat which hurried them out the door. Dis couldn’t help but smile at them and apparently neither could Sigrid who chuckled a little as Uri closed the door.

Looking at the Queen, Dis tried and failed to reconcile the young girl she had met so many years ago in Dale. The same steel was there but it was poised now. Graceful. Sigrid wasn’t a girl but a woman grown with many responsibilities on her shoulders. Things that until lately, Dis had done because they needed doing. But it was Sigrid’s turn, and seeing her standing before her, Dis knew that she would be going to Moria with Balin. Sigrid after all, was the Queen under the Mountain and could not stand in the shadow of a Princess.

“There are some things that need saying before tonight. I won’t have bad feelings between us, Amad Dis.” Sigrid walked to her, the long sweep of her dress rustling over the stone floor. “Your reasons are you own for what you have done but no more. Fian will love who he loves and so will Vian. They will marry who they will. Fili will announce tonight that Fian will be styled the Crown Prince of Erebor and Heir apparent with Vian as the second Heir. Should any dispute it, they will be exiled.”

Dis nodded to show she understood. Fian named as Crown Prince was long overdue. Many of the line of Kings had waited until the child reached his first year or the second but Fian was past his third. Childhood illnesses were beyond him now as he had not succumbed. It was progressive and a positive step. It made Dis the happier for it because she could see that it was something they had agreed together as King and Queen.

“The best of ourselves, the truly marvelous parts are only bought at the cost of great pain.  That is the greatest moment in life.” Dis took a breath to continue. “That is what my sons are to me. The greatest moments of my life. That I hurt them, cleaves me in two. It isn't a simple thing to stop being a mother to your children, especially when you want to do all you can for them.” Tears drowned her voice at the end but she preserved. “Balin has asked me to consider going to Moria with him once the Colony is established and the Orcs are routed. I will go with him.” Sigrid’s eyes went wide with shock, she gasped but Dis put up her hand to stay her comments. “It will need to be done, dear girl. This is your time.”

The Princess walked forward, taking Sigrid’s hands in her own. The Dwarrowdam looked long into the eyes of the woman who would change this Mountain and do it for the better. Happy was she at the moment of her son’s birth, but it was happier still that she could see them become the Dwarrows that they were. If Kili found his Elf, then he too would be the Dwarrow he was always meant to be, just like his Kingly brother.

“I do not wish you to leave!” Sigrid gasped through her tears as Dis reached to brush them away. “I would never have gotten so far without you!”

Dis smiled at her, confident and happy for the Queen. “You would have, I have no doubt. Might have taken longer but you would have gotten to this point. I couldn’t be prouder of you, my darling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rwalaer – lusty one  
> This was meant to be a filler before the ending of the Dale/ Erebor celebration next chapter. It is in the works and will be longgggg….There will be a little Kili/Tauriel with Bain and Dorlad but the rest will be at Erebor. Look for it by the end of the week..   
> Runes and Ravens is a tile game like dominos but with the same kind of groupings as Mah Jonng, very much my invention. In my section of the South, we have a saying, ‘close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.’ I thought it was still a funny thing.   
> I wrote that Dwarves need a honeymoon or the wedding aftertime to get used to each other and allow their lives to fix and join completely. (not just lots and lots of sex) There are no Dwarves to explain this too him so, Kili is muddling along by himself with anxiety now that he has had the ‘wedding night’. To me there is no difference between the Dwarves and Elves when they love, the joining is absolute and can be destructive if parted from their love.  
> I have outlined the rape chapter and it is about 6 chptrs out. It brings up the thought process about Elves and their Fea vs the Hroa. While not detailed in research, I get the feeling that Elves die when raped but its not an immediate thing. Their Fea breaks and dies causing the same in their body? Please chime in if I am off..


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Cause honey your soul could never grow old, it's evergreen  
> And, baby, your smile's forever in my mind and memory  
> I'm thinking 'bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways  
> Maybe it's all part of a plan  
> Well, I'll just keep on making the same mistakes  
> Hoping that you'll understand
> 
> ~ Ed Sheeran - Thinking Out Loud ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter with Kili, Tauriel, Bain & Dorlad.. enjoy !

_Late Afternoon in Rohan_

Bain and Dorlad went hunting for their disappearing Dwarf and his lady love with no luck what so ever. Aeldklif had been agreeable to the marriage but conditions had to be met for the Lord’s peace of mind. Proprieties would need to be observed since there was the ‘cloak’ issue that Bain still could not quite understand. Suffice it to say, Kili and Tauriel were to be chaperoned and not allowed sharing of the same quarters until after the marriage ceremony. Bain kept the snickering to a minimum as Kili’s face slid from annoyed to grim. The Prince of Dale had wanted to lay a side bet with Dorlad who laughingly refused the probability of keeping the two lovers apart for the next two days. He wished now that Dorlad had accepted.

The caverns under the Hornburg had been placed off limits as there were many halls, grottos and off rooms that permitted entirely too much privacy. Dorlad told him stories as they searched for the pair of the gems decorating the walls and the warm springs that twisted throughout the underground stronghold. The description sounded more like a Dwarven Delf than a place of Man but Dorlad said it was originally found by the Eorlingas many years ago. No Dwarves had lived in the Riddermark in anyone’s memory for more than a handful of years.

“We have checked everywhere.” Bain signed as he looked to his friend as they stood on the steps before the Hall. The sun beat down upon the statues, making seem bone white in the afternoon light.

“Let’s try the rooms again. I don’t want to have to explain their disappearance to Aeldklif. He’s grumpy as it is. A messenger came that a cousin of Alfgivia is arriving with a suitor for Arnorra. A third son of a great family in Gondor.” Dorlad smiled at Bain as they entered the Keep. “They are hoping for horses to be part of her Dowry.”

The two Men walked through the mostly empty hall, acknowledging those greeted them. The servants rushed about the Hall, cleaning tables while a few of the young lads in training lugged in new barrels of ale. The two boys grabbed the rope handles at the end of the crates piled high with dirty dishes that the Riders tossed their leavings, hustling them back to the Kitchens for washing. It was a never ending cycle here, many rarely leaving Helms Deep. The lads would graduate from the stables to the kitchens based upon their work performance, then apprenticeship to the blacksmith or farrier if needed. Many would become Riders or leave and go back to the farms.

“I thought the Lady Arnorra had a fondness for Dernhelm.” Bain was ever so happy that the Lord and Lady knew not who he was else he would be tossed into the Marriage Game as well.

The Dunedain smiled at him with a wink. “She does. Aeldklif knows and he also knows that Alfgivia won’t agree. She wants a lord for her daughters not a Rider.”

Bain didn’t respond. The ways and means of who married to whom was beyond him. No lady had stirred him and while it was not uncommon according to his father, it bothered him somewhat. Seeing the affection between Kili and Tauriel made him wonder about having a love of his own. The Lady Lifa was an interesting sort but her attitude left him wanting different company after this morning. Her tendre for Werrmund and his actions to Tauriel were not Kili’s fault.

A game of dice was being played in at a side table though neither Bain nor Dorlad were invited. Some of the Riders bored the bland expression of concealed thoughts but Bain didn’t blame them for thinking. He blamed them for their inaction and their blindness. They didn’t linger, only drawing a tankard of ale and heading to the guest rooms away from the garrison. There was loud talk in Rohirric that echoed up the stairs from the lower levels. Men were arguing over something that made Dorlad chuckle quietly. Something about Dwarven stamina verses a Man’s, Dorlad explained if you count their longevity.

Opening their room door, the pair met with a surprise. Kili was sitting on the bed, brushing dry Tauriel’s long hair. His own was plastered to his head in a wet tendrils as if he had just step from a bathing tub. Their clothes were fresh as Tauriel sat cross legged before him on the floor. A smile danced up the Dwarf’s face as he hummed a quiet tune. The Elf closed her eyes as he continued once she was certain who had entered the room.

“I know we checked the bathing rooms.” Bain started looking confused. “In the garrison and other areas. We didn’t see you.”

There only so many places what they could have gone to bath where Kili would not have raised a fight at someone walking on the two of them. His Dwarrow friend would take another’s eye that beheld Tauriel wearing only her skin. Dorlad had said Aeldklif had cordoned off the caverns, leaving a guard in the room that led to a secret stair.

Tauriel smiled but kept her eyes closed. “There are rooms and there are rooms in the Hornburg.”

Dorlad laughed. “One day, Lady, you must take me on a tour of these ‘other areas’ that are not known to me.”

The play of her smile turned dreamy as she slid closer to the Dwarf behind her as he pulled the long swath of hair across his lap. The look of awe upon Kili’s face as he glided his fingers through the scarlet strands was humbling. “The day of the wedding, my love, you must wear your hair down. The last part of the ceremony is the hair braiding.”

“Yes, Meleth nin.”

Bain wished he could remember Fili and Sigrid’s braiding ceremony but he had too many mugs of beer in him by that time. Now, he couldn’t recall a time when she didn’t sport multiple braids all over her head. His sister had gone very native in her stay under the mountain, making him wonder if Tauriel will do the same. How could an Elf live underground without the things like trees and their stars? Granted, she had lived here in Rohan without large sweeping forests but could she give up her stars as well?

Taking a comb, Kili parted her hair in sections deftly braiding each in quick succession. A lock he twisted and pinned with a silver etched clip from a pooch Bain recognized from the large satchel that had held the gifts he had fashioned in Rivendell. Watching the concentration of his friend, the Prince of Dale couldn’t help but smile. He was so happy, his lightheartedness was shining through as he ran fingers again and again through fiery tresses. The glory of their love, that he had found her alive and still loving him was healing Kili body and soul. Yes, keeping them apart would be difficult, nigh impossible and Bain felt that they had been separated long enough.

“Why do you not braid those first strands?” Bain asked as he took a seat across the way next to Dorlad.

Tauriel reached to twirl her long fingers in the unbraided lock as if she had noticed it for the first time. She was so taken in by his fingers in her hair, what he was doing didn’t actually matter. The intimacy of the act made Bain feel like a voyeur as hair was very important to Dwarves. Tauriel was at peace during these moments. Her green eyes lost their daze, focusing in on their words as well as Dorlad’s actions. She didn’t know the Dunedain but Bain could see her reserve shining through in each movement. Tauriel’s knives, the gifts that Kili had made for her where not far from her fingertips.

“Those are for her family braids.” Kili pointed to the first set passed the section. “These are the courting braids, then the betrothal. The marriage braids will be third placement and will be entwined with my family braid on the end.”

“What is your family braid, Tauriel?” Bain asked as watched in confusion.

“I have none.” She smiled. “But Kili said that an Elven construction will suffice.”

Pulling back from his quick fingers, the Elf tugged a lock of hair on Kili’s head. “It will have to be good because it will go in his hair as well.”

Kili dropped a kiss on her head but went back to work. Once the side braids were finished, he began at the crown. She would want her hair away from her face so that it wouldn’t impede her view if caught in a battle. Four thin braids in neat rows, arrowed back to grow thicker as the Dwarrow pulled more hair at the sides. He pinned them together with a single gold leaf clip that was beautiful nestled in such a flaming strands. They switched places once he was finished, Kili laying face down in her lap once she took a seat on the bed. He circled his arms about her waist as Tauriel began.  

“Aeldklif wants us married before we leave.” Kili shifted so that he could see them as he spoke. “Two days after, we need to go. Aeldklif has given Tauriel a release from her duties.”

Dorlad’s gaze swung to Tauriel as she combed the dark hair of her lover. “This is by your will? You would leave?”

Tauriel looked to the Dunedain as Kili tensed beneath her. Bain knew something had passed between them already for the pair to come to this decision now in what could be viewed as haste. The Elf slid her fingers down his neck, then back to his cheek to run her thumb over his bone then his nose.

“He maimed a Rider for me. He was an outsider before this and if we stay, he might become a target. I can’t allow that.” Her words were soft but the impact was considerable. Her love was as fiery as her hair and with 600 years of experience, none would touch her Dwarf.

Judging by Kili’s reaction, he understood what was happening as well. Aeldklif cared for Tauriel but he couldn't be everywhere at every moment to stop the rashness of angry Men. The grumblings last night had been considerable, many of Werrmund's friends held the light of violent retribution in their eye. They four may not be safe until they left the Hornburg, however the weather was not their ally. Winter was settling in here and would only bring colder temperatures. It would have been snowing by now and deeply around the Long Lake in their absence. It would be more dangerous to attempt the travel north.

“Well, what about Edoras?” Dorlad asked as he looked from Bain to Kili then Tauriel. “We might wait out the spring there as the Isen will be getting too treacherous to cross even at the Fords.”

They had almost lost Daisy there and it would have only gotten worse in the lapsed days. Even if they made it over, there were wildmen and the possible unfriendliness of Isengard was a real possibility. Loth Lorien might offer hospitality but not for a long winter if spring was delayed.

Tauriel shook her head. “King Fengal’s reputation is not amiable to travelers. His own son resides now in Gondor by choice.”

They sat in silence as Tauriel combed dry the Dwarrow’s hair. Neither saying much as scenarios of their next destination occupied themselves in the silence. Bain had thought going back would be just as well then going further south but he remembered those long cold nights on the Lake of his youth. It would be just as bad caught in the open for the month of travel it would take to get home.

“We could make for Minas Tirth.” Kili mumbled. “We could just as easily winter there then somewhere else. Bain gets to see Tilda, Dorlad gets to see the White City again.” He snuggled closer to Tauriel as he continued. “I get time with my wife so that we can decide our next step.”

Bain laughed at that but kept his thoughts to himself. Seeing Tilda after so long would be a joy for he truly missed his sister. She had been gone three years, leaving Dale to learn the healing arts and be what she called ‘useful.’ Life had chosen an honorable path for his mischievous sister, a happy path too if Bain had any say. Her sun kissed face would be lighter now, kept in the houses of healing for the daylight hours. He wondered if he could recognize her at glance or had she so changed in their separation?

Fortune’s wheel had taken the three children of Bard the Bargeman very high indeed from their very low placement in Lake Town, and there was nothing any might do but face the turn of it with courage. Kili and Tauriel were no strangers to the Wheel’s turn, for who could have foreseen Thorin’s madness? Dwarven heart to blend with an Elf’s courage was bold, fast and free like the powerful horses of this mighty land. They too will have to learn to withstand what comes. They all would have to learn to treat misfortune and great fortune with indifference, allowing each to flow by them like a river. That is the beginning of wisdom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Dale/Erebor celebration is huge so I decided to cut it up and post this now.. Look for the next chapter late Monday night or Tues morning.
> 
> I want to thank everyone and I appreciate everyone's thoughts on this crazy train that I have started !


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only you can make this world seem right  
> Only you can make the darkness bright  
> Only you and you alone  
> Can thrill me like you do  
> And fill my heart with love for only you
> 
> ~The Platters - Only You~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dale Celebration night ! Warnings for icky talk about male bodily fluid and drugged dwarrowdams lol...and heart shredding feels from Dwalin..
> 
> No Tauriel and Kili Just Erebor.
> 
> Kudos to Gingerpie who caught my latest snafu in the last chapter ! Most appreciated darling !

_Early Evening at Erebor - Dale & Erebor Celebration_

**Skuld’s POV**

Eir and Skuld walked the corridor slowly, with a young baker from the Kitchens to help with the tray of tea and scones. Bifur lurked at the ready in an off side hall with Olgr and Vigdis, she caught a bare glimpse as they passed. As long as Skuld didn’t drink the tea, it would be enough to guide the situation to the result they wished. Eir was a sweet girl and Skuld felt badly for using her way but she had been warned and still decided to go. The redheaded ‘dam had her own motivations for this venture and was quite emphatic about helping where she could.

Eir was calm, almost stately in her borrowed refinements. The dress was lent from Vidgis as she would not be joining the party due to her part in the plan. However, it was too fine a gown to sit and gather dust on a night like this. Her red hair was braided with gold ribbons and tiny tear drop diamonds that sparkled like dew amongst the weavings. Her dark midnight gown carried a water pattern in lighter threads as if the surf from a raging ocean swirls in depths amid indigo lace. Likewise, Lady Skuld wore the same design in lighter colors of sky blue and turquoise lace.   They were the representations of night and day upon the lake, and each just as mercurial.

Several old gowns had been salvaged for the jewels to make the new raiments. While the Iron Hills had a thriving foundry and forges, they were iron rich and gem poor. Verdandi and Olrun both had not wanted to seem like the poor relations, brought several dresses that belonged to dead relatives and cut away the stones for the new gowns. Linnar had no problem donating a few packed possessions of Skuld’s Amad for the dresses she herself would wear. The Dwarrowdams’ of Linnar’s hall and the Iron Court used lace as well as braided cord for designs upon the skirts and bodices in place of the gems and to Skuld it was just as lovely.

The guard was not one who had been on duty when last they had come, this one was rougher than his predecessor. His leather tunic was clean as were his boots and the axe in hand had a deadly edge in the torchlight. His red hair was vibrant, matching a ruddy complexion that Skuld found interesting. Eir stiffened slightly when she recognized him and mortared a wan smile on her face.

“Greetings, Gimli, son of Gloin.” The Lady Eir bowed her head as the guard look upon them with a sullen expression.

For all his dismal exterior, Gimli, son of Gloin knew his manners. He bowed his head to them each in turn with a “Well met, ladies” but nothing more than that. Lady Skuld thought he reminded her of another Dwarf she had made the acquaintance yet not the name. Aunt Verdandi would not look upon her favorably if she could not remember faces to put the names.

“The celebration is a fine thing but it saddens me that the Lady Herja will miss it. We have come to keep her company for a time since the other ladies are on their own business.” A colloquy of sorts mixed in the air between the two as Skuld watch, confused and impressed. The Dwarf was out of sorts by the conversation.

With a scowl and interesting disagreement with himself, Gimli opened the door to the suite of rooms. He said nothing else as they entered, closing the door firmly once they passed the threshold. The Lady in question was seated on a daybed, working a piece of cloth in a horrible attempt at embroidery. While Skuld could not claim the skill as her own, the abstract of colors in the design had no discernable pattern or thought. Evidence of disquieted mind will always find an outlet, even to disfigure harmless piece of cloth.

“Lady Eir.” The Lady began with obvious false cheer. “I did not expect company tonight in my jail.”

Eir smiled a truly happy smile as they took seats across from the door. “I had not been able to break away from my work. But I hope to make up for my inattention. Lady Skuld and I thought to pay you a visit since you cannot attend the feast tonight.”

Skuld shaped her face into an appropriate look of contrition and pity as if she could lament this Dwarrowdam’s predicament. Her dress of unadorned yellow shallowed her complexion to a waxy color of much washed linen. Her beard and curls had been evenly trimmed since last the Iron Hills female had visited yet still humiliatingly short. She had at least bathed herself recently despite no intentions of having company tonight. But her cleanliness had not reached her outlook. Watching close to the rancid attitude of this acetous female, she understood why Olrun had taken this position. This Dwarrowdam hated this seclusion, flaring up to an embittered tantrum of inelegant hissing.

“Yes! They feast and rejoice the mongrels of that whore our beloved Thane has married.” Tossing sampler material against the wall, her gaze snapped to the Stripling as he shook holding the tray of aperitifs. “What have you brought?”

“Sit down the tray and you may go.” Eir told the boy, yet never did her gaze stray from the Dwarrowdam. Balin’s apprentice openly acknowledged her as the danger in the room. “Finger foods mostly.” Leaning forward with a genial air, she continued as the boy scurried from the room. “I also brought you some of the Aleberry from the Shire. It’s quite tasty.”

The Dwarrowdam showed the Lady Herja a goodly earthenware jug on that contained the Aleberry as well as half the vial of valerian that the Healer had brought Olrun. The other half was in the tea, neither of them thought to take the chance that she would prefer one and not the other. The scones and sugared figs should take the focus from the Valerian’s slightly bitter taste or so they hoped.

“You know, I feel badly for that Dwarrow outside, having to miss the fun. Shall not we invite him as well?” Skuld asked on queue to make sure some of the sleeping draught found its way into the door warden.

Eir stiffened and made an argument. “We only brought three cups, dear Lady. Besides, he is on guard and likely as not-“

“Likely as not you would prefer not his presence.” Herja gave a harsh laugh at Eir’s apparent uncomfortable facade. “Gimli may have my cup.. here.” Herja took a tankard from a side table. “Fill mine half and half. Gimli ! Get in here!”

Herja slammed the metal cup down on the stylized table before them, playing no attention to the carved designs in the wood. Its just an object, Skuld realized as she watched Herja with slight twitch of her lips, she cares for none of her possessions as if they may all be changed for something new. Looking around the room, a pile of dresses were in the corner with gems flashing dully in the candle light due to stains. A pretty sideboard against a wall had the same look as the tables yet it was covered in dust and discarded food. How could a Dwarrowdam of good family think that she might be taken seriously if she lives worse than a sow?

Skuld received a subtle nod of her companion’s head to the door. They both rose in unison as Eir began to clear a deliberate spot in the clutter chairs for Gimli, son of Gloin and Linnar’s daughter made for the door. Skuld was quicker but made sure the guard saw that at one point everyone’s back was to Herja. As he entered, Skuld took a position beside her friend and blocked the view to the serving tray with their bodies.

The Dwarrow stepped inside fully at Herja’s continued bellowing with a most churlish turn of a lip. “Yes, Lady Herja.”

“Gimli, have some of this Aleberry tea. Eir, mix him some!” The dark haired ‘dam commanded as young Gimli looked rather perplexed. “We are having our own celebration!”

The poor Dwarf looked confused but gamely took the cup for the impromptu party, taking a seat across from them. Eir pressed a plate and cup to her but Skuld nibbled on the food and left the cup on its saucer. Herja made some sort of joke that made no sense but everyone laughed politely. Eir gave her inconspicuous glances from time to time as the jesting began in reference to Eir and Gimli, however never reacted to her talk. Balin’s apprentice continued to drink from her cup as did the disgraced ‘dam and their guard but not as excessive as they.

Skuld, needing to keep her hands busy, offered them refills as Herja began a round of singing that was more than a little off key. The valerian worked fast as a natural sleep aid for Men but was much more potent on Dwarven nature. The plant’s hard punch was like drinking a barrel of warm ale on a cold day. Yet this Gimli was bigger than the ‘dams and might require more than a just amount. The young girl tried to keep the food from him, yet he grabbed the figs in intervals when Herja wasn’t snatching them herself.

A few moments went by as Skuld finished her food, leaving her tea untouched. She looked up to see the Dwarrow putting a finger between his eyes and shake his head a little, trying to clear the fog that was no doubt creeping over his thoughts. Immediately, she launched into a rude drinking song that the miners would sing as she reached for the last figs. Eir knew parts of it and joined in but the valerian was clouding her as well and she missed a few verses. Herja laid back on her daybed with a loopy smile as the empty tankard began to slide from her grasp. She had drank the most of the mixture thus far.

Giving Gimli the last of the Aleberry, Skuld sang the last notes in a lullaby’s tone to touch his softer memories. The Dwarf drank all of his drink and promptly dropped his cup on the floor with a clang. He tried to jostle himself from the chair but failed and sunk lower in the cushions. A slack jawed breath escaped him as his head fell to one side. Herja was snoring in loud gasping rolls as Eir attempted to right herself.

“Get the…get the..door.” Eir gasped as she tried to fight the sleep. “I didn’t drink as much as they but I am fading fast.”

Skuld hurried to the door, everything going to plan. Gimli had bolted it once he had entered like they had assumed, and took the seat closest to it. Throwing the door open in her haste, the loud bang of the wood on stone did nothing to jar away the group. No doubt they would all sleep like stone until morning. Eir snuggled in to the chair as the drug relaxed her further, sighing and yawning together. Olgr, Vigdis and Bifur were waiting on the other side of the door, Vigdis wore an amused grin.

Bifur went to Gimli and checked him as Vigdis and Olgr hoisted Herja from her couch. Wrapping her quickly in a dark blanket, her light colored dress would be obscured in the dark corridors. Grumbling under the weight of the female, the Iron Hills Dwarf managed to get her over a shoulder to carry her to the Stoors rooms. Bifur nodded to the pair as he patted the young Guard on the head with a smile and Vigdis helped Eir find a more comfortable position.

Skuld’s only job was to make sure they had access to the room and Eir didn’t injure herself by falling over. That complete, she winked to her cousin and drank all of the tea that had cooled while she had waited. Vigdis poured her another draught of the laced liquid, giggling softly as her father walked to the door with his burden. Skuld downed the second dose in quick succession and handed the empty mug to Vigdis. She settled down, laying her head on Eir’s shoulder for the long sleep that was to come.

**88**88**

**Vigdis’ POV**

Vigdis watched her neat and prim cousin with some amusement as Skuld drank the two cups like a drunk blacksmith. Making sure Linnar’s daughter was comfortable, Vigdis followed her father out the door with Bifur leading the way. He knew a quick route through lesser used passageways that would lead to the guest halls on the lower levels. The less people who saw them, the higher their chances were of success. Bifur would give the warning in front while she made sure their rear was not observed.

The winding passage off the residence hall was in good order but there were fewer torches with more cobwebs on the walls. This section had been heavily damaged during Smaug’s residency, shorting what was once a direct route to the forges to leave a hall that contained barely eleven suites. Many of the rooms had been taken in order of arrival to the Mountain while whole families took a small hall to a lesser populated Guild. Herja’s rooms were on a low level but most of that hall was comprised of unattached or Dowager Dwarrowdams. Security had been a concern for the few females of their race to make sure they went unmolested.

Security, however, tonight was rather lax with everyone boisterously celebrating. The few partiers that gave Bifur pause so far had been heading in the other direction, never looking over their shoulder to see what was hiding in the shadows. Her Aunt Olrun was planning on approaching Master Dwalin to make a claim and while his nature was more stern than Vigdis had thought of a Mountain Court Dwarrow, Olrun was the one who would live with him. Olrun had come alive in the last two months, thanks in part to the Princess’ help but also that she would have her One and love at last.

They turned a corner in single file, winding down narrow steps until Bifur stopped at the bottom. Her father grunted at the Dwarrow before him, to remind the silent Dwarf that the load on his shoulder was not a light one. The Dwarrowdam’s torso hung down the length of her father’s back. The paleness of her exposed arms was bright against the absorbing dark shroud, her face nor hair visible in the casing.

They started out again, close to their goal when Bifur backed up suddenly almost falling backwards on the struggling Olgr. It was only Vigdis reaching out with a hand upon her father’s back and on Herja that kept them both upright. Clutching his bundle, Olgr shifted again to lean against the wall as Vigdis made out voices ahead.

Olgr stepped away as Vigdis followed to see Nori standing in front of Bifur. He had a sheepish expression on his face. “We don’t have a lot of time. Some of the visiting dignitaries are turning in early.”

Taking another hall and passage at a run, the end opened to a wide promenade. The Stoors rooms were on the other side but there was an open deck to the through faire beneath. Loud singing could be heard as they walked to the end of the corridor. Nori walked to Olgr, helping him unsling Herja from his shoulder. Her father gasped a little and rubbed the long his neck at being free of the weight.

“Help me.” Nori commanded Vigdis as he unraveled Herja from the blanket. “If we drape it right, it will look like celebrants going to bed and one with a little too much beer.”

Hurrying, Nori and Vigdis tucked the dark cloth around the Dwarrowdam’s body so that most of it was hidden. The star haired Dwarf took one arm over his shoulders and Vigdis took the other. With Bifur in front and Olgr behind they walked the semi open promenade with none the wiser below them. Bifur immediately set off to get the door open to the Stoors rooms. He had to get downstairs and be seen by as many of the company and other known Dwarrows as possible. Likewise, Olgr and Vigdis would go back below quarters to sit with the sounder and spell Balfor as soon as they could. No witnesses and many alibies would be of much help at the moment.

The Hobbits rooms were open with less furniture than what was in their rooms, Vigdis noted as they dragged the heavy ‘dam inside. A few chairs, a sideboard and not very ornate as Dwarves were known to carve when given the chance. Two doors were open on either side of a large wardrobe as Nori stumbled forward into the one on the left. Her father right behind them, she and Nori managed to scoot Herja through the door.

“What in Mahal’s name..” Her father started but Vigdis gasped then snickered.

Two naked Stoor Hobbits were laid out on the bed with blankets covering their masculinity. Vigdis looked at the floor for the first time to see clothes scattered around the room as if they undressed in a hurry. Satchels were stacked along the wall with what could be documents and clothing. The Stoors had come by boat, then walked the rest of the way to Erebor from Dale. Looking at their elongated feet, she could see how they had made the journey without too much trouble.

“I was trying to tell Bifur. I drugged Dingol with the valerian in his pitcher but his pal here showed up and drank before I could stop him!” Nori explained as laid the Dwarrowdam on the bed and propped her feet on the Stoor at the bottom. “I was hard pressed to get them both back before they toppled!”

Vigdis looked at her father who tugged at his chin braid, thinking. Finally, he looked at both hobbits. “One is believable, two is not. Take the friend to the other bed. Even nude, as long as he isn’t in the same bed, his presence might be explained away. Did you have to strip him bare?”

Vigdis moved away to allow Nori space as he walked around the bed. The rumbled chaos of the bed and room denoted activity and she had to be careful where she stepped. There was no telling what lay under the piles of discarded clothes.

“I wasn’t sure how far you wanted this to go.” Nori reached down as lift the spare Hobbit. “Get started with her clothes. I will be right back.”

Nori and her father left, leaving Vigdis with the snoring Hobbit and the unconscious Dwarrowdam. Quickly, she rolled Herja to her side and unlaced her gown. It was old and she gave it care as she pulled the strings free so as not to tear the material. Gowns were costly in the Iron Hills and Linnar’s hall so Dwarrowdam’s learned early to take pride in their clothes. Maneuvering Herja was not so easy thanks to her stout form and slack limbs. From a sitting position to laying her down again, Vidgis removed the gown and undergarments down to the small clothes.

Her father was very traditional, not wanting to do such an act and demanding a female undress a female. Since Olrun and Verdandi had to been seen, Vigdis had volunteered after Skuld stepped forward to take the drugged tea. It didn’t mean that this was an enjoyable interlude, far from it. Once completed, she covered the Dwarrowdam with a sheet as the Dwarrows walked inside the room. Nori immediately took her dress and tore the collar then tossed it into the corner, the underskirts received the same treatment.

“You want it to look like they were passionate to get to one another. Not tepid, no one will believe tepid.” Nori explained as he tossed the last garment. “Where are her underthings?”

Vigdis sighed deeply. “Still on her.” Reaching a hand under the sheet, she tugged down the garment from the Dwarrowdam’s deeply snoring body, grimacing the entire time. “Here.” She handed the small clothes to the Dwarrow who held them away from himself and ripped the seams. The ruined cloth landed by the door.

Nori walked a satchel that Vigdis had mistaken for the Hobbits, drawing out items and taking them to a side table. The glass vials had some substance in each but only half full. The viscosity of the liquid looked like oil but Vigdis couldn’t be sure. As he passed again, Nori poured some water into a basin from a jug on the floor, laying a splotched red cloth beside it. Olgr looked confused until the sneaky Dwarf returned with a small covered dish and a flattened wood spoon.

“Shield yourself, Vigdis.” He said as he began to life the sheet. The Dwarrowdam turned as he instructed, staring at the wall.

“What are you doing!?” Her father hissed in shocked voice. Bed clothes were being moved if the snapped material noises behind her were any indication. “What is that substance?”

“I don’t know about you but I am a little messy after a night of passion and so is the bed. People have to believe what happened actually happened.” The bed creaked behind her but still Vigdis didn’t move.

“You can’t mean that’s-“

“Yes, I can mean! I have given a lot to this endeavor and I have the evidence to prove it!” Nori told her father with what she could only describe as grim satisfaction. “My sword hilt will take days to recover.”

Vigdis shook her head at the direction of the conversation. Nudity was not part of her everyday life in the Iron Hills, Dwarves were not so free with themselves. Dain Ironfoot preferred separation between ‘dams and Dwarrows, each to their own sections of the Barracks. She had heard lively stories of males out on patrol but some things discussed did not always make sense to her. When Vigdis asked her father or brother, she had been passed on to her mother who told her that it was simply part of Dwarrow life. But no real explanations.

“Smart, disgusting but smart. Make sure you smear some on…well..” Her father stopped with a cough as the conversation became most strange. What was Nori smearing on Herja and the Hobbit if they were naked?

“Vidgis, I need one more thing from you.” Turning around, she saw Nori advance around the bed. Her father had a rather flustered blush on his face stared at the bed.

Nori took a small knife and cut the side of Vigdis hand until blood welled up from the slice. Her father grumbled more as Nori placed her hand on the sheets underneath the Hobbit and Herja to rub the blood into the white. There was a filmy substance already there, a thick gooish consistency that was also on Herja’s upper thigh. Her blood spread on the fluid and the on the white sheet to stain it in a streaked pattern then he let her go.

“Here. They will be out for hours yet.” Nori tossed the sheet back in place to cover the Dwarrowdam’s lower legs. “Shame on you, Herja for tuping a Hobbit!”

Not wanting to have any further discussion along this vein of thought, Vigdis walked from the room with her father and Nori chuckling behind her. Taking a rag from her pocket, she wrapped her hand in the material to stave off dripping blood on the scene of Herja’s debauchery. The guard at the Dwarrowdam’s door was due to be relieved in about four hours. When the new guard arrived to find the drugged occupants of the room and no Herja, the King would be notified and a search would be started to find her. Vigdis smiled to herself as she made her way to the tunnel leading down to the stables.

Herja was not going to have a happy morning.

**88**88**88**

**Olrun’s POV**

The crowds of Men and Dwarrows made for a hot room despite the vaulted ceiling. Many piled at the support columns for a better look at the dais outside as they flowed and eddied in an endless river out of the Mountain. The speech and gift from King Fili would give for the continued friendship of Dale and Erebor was gossiped all around her. Olrun had heard a few whispers that the Mountain King was attempting to soothe his near father’s temper because he planned to take a Dwarf consort for the secession to continue through his line. Chuckling to herself at such foolishness, she ambled at a pace looking for Dwalin but missing him completely.

Olgr, and Bifur along with Vigdis would be handing the issue of the Dwarrowdam. Vigdis had assured her that Nori was quite capable of slipping the Valerian into the Stoor’s tea without incident. Based on what she had seen so far, Olrun was inclined to agree. He was a most resourceful ally and hopefully one of hers in the future. The Queen’s court could use someone of discretion and who also knew about keeping themselves in the wings of any situation.

Olrun had never liked that sort of action, never saw it as being part of her life in Linnar’s Hall. The Iron Court had been different than her childhood, especially when the Ironfoot began to give her particular attention. Others, Dwarrows and Dwarrowdams, had flattered her wanting to be her confidants. It had taken the Princess Dis’ letters to make her see that the attention was not positive from any of the hangers on nor the disrespect that was being levied again their Queen. Dain had seen it happening, seen and done nothing to stop it.

She saw Verdandi standing away close the entrance with Willa and her Dwarrow. Seeing them together made her smile in happiness for her cousin. Verdandi was better, more patient in those new situations with people. She confided quietly once that she treated them all like new boars, just giving people encouragement so that they would see there was nothing to fear from her. Her manner was just that way, quiet and affable in any situation. Olrun could see Verdandi and Willa being close in the future for the Healer had the same gift.

The Thane Fili and Queen walked from a side room to stand just at the Front Entrance to Erebor. The Queen looking so very lovely smiled at many and shook hands with a few. The King wore the diadem of Erebor upon his brow with the dark gray surcoat and tunic. The Mithril bans clipped the ends of his braids and beard with the winking fire of sapphire chips. Resplendent they both were and so completely captivated with each other. The quiet words that passed between them were not audible but when the King took Sigrid’s hand and placed the other upon her distended belly, their love could never have been denied.

Dwalin walked behind them, catching Olrun’s breath at the sight of him. Dark leather pants with a studded gambeson hugged his muscled form. The ever present axe was seated upon a shoulder as he scanned the entry way to take notice of who attended. His gaze skirted her then swung back as he took in her appearance. She felt heated as his gaze travelled from the bottom of her skirt upward and stop at her chin. The love knot had been a careful construction but well worth the pains. Love was worth the extra effort as a smirk flirted across his lips when his eyes locked upon hers.

Olrun let an eyebrow raise in challenge before she changed direction to join Verdandi and make the acquaintance of Willa’s Dwarrow at last. A slight game of chase would make him eager went she caught, Olrun thought with a chuckle. Thorin Stonehelm was nowhere in her vicinity, prompting her to offer a quick thanks to the Maker for the respite. Olrun’s nature was not lewd nor lascivious, there was no danger of her falling into lust. Except that one moment by the Red Spring, but it was barely anything and she still had not brought the girls to task for the incident. Thorin had been a most vigilant jailer, hounding her days and nights since coming to Erebor.

Slipping an arm through her near sister, Olrun could see the excitement of what was to come shining through her happy smile and crinkled eyes. Willa finished whispering to the Dwarrow at her side then turned to nod her head at Olrun in greeting.

“Sister of my spouse, I would like for you to meet, Oin son of Groin and Willa’s Dwarrow.” Verdandi turned to drop her voice to a whisper. “They plan to move up their betrothal date. How exciting!”

The strawberry blond Dwarrowdam bowed her head to Oin who returned the gesture. He was an aged Dwarrow as she had seen the day of presentation in the Throne room. Of Durin’s line in the same distaff branch as her One, Oin was Dwalin’s close cousin. His demeanor was gruff with the same hard look as some of Thorin’s company. But when Willa spoke to him, a dark blush stained his exposed cheek and his eyes twinkled.

Deeply, Olrun could still feel the physical touch of Dwalin as if he ran his roughed hands along her neck to make her beard tingle. She did not have to shift to see, Olrun knew where he was in the hall. The wanting was strong to go to him but patience was required. He had seen the knot at her chin, knew that she would approach him as was their custom. For truth, only the smallest part of her worried at being turned away. In the pocket of her dress, two clasps clanked together, the solid weight of her claiming. Twining her finger at the family braid on her shoulder, she hoped it wouldn’t be lonely by the end of the night.

The princes followed their parents, adorable children in dark blues for the royal blood. The Striplings who attended the young sons of Fili were good for them, giving the children another view of the life than just their immediate family. The Queen had proven to be a very discerning mother, wanting them with her as much as possible and parting only under considerate need. Little Fian wore a finely wrought helm upon his small head, a gift from Dwalin and Balin according to rumor. Much would rest upon those small shoulders, many fates were entwined to his. The future wasn’t set for any of them, they still had to make it to dawn.

The procession walked at a steady pace spilled from the gates to the bonfires dotting the plains that skirted to the Mountain. Two rows of armored guards stood sentinel outside the gates proper, more ceremonial than functional. Many of the guards were spaced here and there in different areas but none quiet so polished as the ones at the Gates. Crowds of people awaited them, clustered in groups near the bright orange flames. Olrun took a spot next to Willa who lifted an eyebrow in her direction. There was a tactile agreement that nothing be said until the morning, no words that might be overheard and repeated to the wrong ears.

The sun had set on cold Northern landscape, allowing for the evening dew to change into the crunching ice underfoot. Olrun spotted Herja’s females threading their way through the crowds of Dwarrows, no doubt reminding him that their leader was still imprisoned. They didn’t come close to the groups of men, staying to their own and to the fringe. Several ‘dams arrayed in beautiful sparkling apparel, meant to draw the eye to their form. It sickened Olrun to see the lady who had accosted Dwalin that day to be in the crowds, spreading some dark thoughts.

A tall Man with a goodly beard and silver streaked hair stepped to greet the Thane and Athane, the Iron Court ‘dam surmised that it was the King Bard of so much rumor. The former bowman of the Long Lake took a position beside the Thane Fili and next to Princess Dis. At the distance between them, Olrun could see he was tall and whip thin in his fitted tunic of wine colored brocade. The pants were tailored into knee boots, long legs slim and with a corded strength that could found in that race.

“That’s the King of Dale.” Willa whispered into her ear. “He is a descendant of the last King of Dale, Girion.”

Olrun looked to the Healer with a smile but let her attention wander the crowd in search of her Dwarf. Some of the Women from Dale were as tall as Willa, making finding Dwalin’s location difficult. The two groups mingled together, knotting into each other like a brambles in a bush. The swell of the two distinctly different peoples made finding him incredibly hard, particularly since she was so much shorter than they. Knowing that Dwalin would be near the Thane, Olrun tried and failed to find him there as the the King under the Mountain began to speak.

“Honor is not passive—it is active. You must work on it, better yourself, every moment of every day. Beside me stands a man of honor, one I am proud to call my near father.” Fili intoned to the assembly. “We have lived in desperation, Erebor and Dale. Before that Ered Luin and Lake Town. Dwarf and Man. Yet, six years have passed to see us in a realm of plenty.”

The rest of the speech was drowned by the intense beating of her heart. Each word was like a nail driven into her soul. What they had done was not honorable before the eyes of Mahal, none of it was. Silently, Olrun reminded herself that Herja would not have gone quietly, nor turned aside. The Dwarrowdam was actively trying to supplant the Queen and push her Dwalin onto another simply because his was of the blood of Durin. Swallowing her ill feelings, she reminded herself that not all things were pleasant in life. Somethings had to be done for the betterment of most while one bore the stain. She would bear this grief, she would bear anything to have her love for her own.

“I wish the share in the fortune I have found with my beloved family. Bard, King of Dale.” Fili stepped back as Dis handed him a large double headed axe with sloping lines. A weapon that would make Dain himself salivate with envy. “This axe belonged to my father, Vali known to Thurin’s Folk in the far North as Barukasi son of Bavor. It was the first axe he acquired once he left the icelands. I give it to you, a symbol of my mighty father to the father of my Ghivashal who has gifted me far beyond the riches of Erebor.”

Savoring the moment, Olrun rejoiced with the crowd in an attempt to lift her heavy heart. She would always remember this night under the stars with all of Erebor and Dale coming together. There was clapping at the ending as the King of Dale took the axe then his near son in a strong embrace. Some was the discreet meeting of skin that the bored and unimaginative do to be apart of the crowd. Others, maybe the Dwarves fell into that row stomping thick soled feet on the ground and rudely yelled in the night air in gleeful abandon. A large smile creased Olrun and Willa’s face at the happiness that surrounded them chasing away her gloom. An axe freely given from a Dwarf was a treasure, to be given an heirloom of their family was honor indeed and priceless beyond measure.

They moved forward with the Dwarves and Men to speak to the two Kings when Olrun spotted Dwalin backing away to go back into the mountain. Confused, she almost walked upon a Dwarrowdam that was standing to the side. A stately ‘dam of late years, her braids were iron gray to coil at the back of her neck. A gauzy veil hugged her neck as she backed away to speak with a Blonde Dwarrowdam at her side.

“Lady Thrud.” Willa nodded to the young Dwarrowdam dressed in a rich burgundy. The Blonde nodded back then smiled at Oin on the other side of Willa.

“Her brother works with me in the Healing halls.” Oin explained as Willa started the introductions between the two.

Thrud had a pretty face and lovely blond hair and beard. She was not ostentatious with her attire and ornaments, wearing a fine gown with copper beading at the neckline. There was dark gold wire threaded into her breads in her hair and braids but it was almost lost amidst her coloring. A bad choice that neither enhanced nor enriched her features yet it didn’t detract either. It was a fine ruby cut to perfection but left without a proper setting. This lady wanted the appearance of care to her person without the desire to attract notice as many would have done.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I have met few ‘dams since I have arrived.” Olrun couldn’t quite understand the girl’s temperament. But she would make the effort to plant the seed of courtesy to see what grew from it.

“It might be debated, my Lady, that there are no Dwarrowdam’s of Erebor worth meeting outside the royal halls.” A shadow passed over her face at the words and Olrun considered this female again. “The Queen has been most gracious where others would not have been in her stead.”

If Lady Thrud had other feelings than blind subservience to the rotten Lady in seclusion, mayhap she wasn’t all bad. She felt compelled to show faith to the Queen which was in her favor. Maybe there were others who didn’t feel as this Herja had but they feel in line nevertheless. The enemy of thine enemy is not always a friend, but they had to start making contact with some ‘dams even the ones they didn’t trust.

“Lady Thrud, life is of our choosing as the King has said.” Willa told her quietly as the Lady curled into herself. “Think upon this day as starting anew. You have left Herja’s circle to regain your honor, so take the fresh start and live your life for happiness.”

If there had been ill feelings from the Queen in reference to Thrud, Willa’s was not of that direction in the face of this Lady. Olrun didn’t know the Dwarrowdam’s circumstances only that she wished to hide herself from the throng and whatever there was of Herja’s doing. This Lady had a conscience and it was eating her alive.

“Willa!”

A medium height man interrupted their circle, tugging the healer into a tight hug before she had the opportunity to refuse. That kind of display would have been frowned upon in the Iron Hills, one didn’t grab a Dwarrowdam in a familiar manner unless they were family. Likewise, Willa’s beau felt the same as Lady Thrud snickered tactlessly with shock.

Oin grumbled and yanked on the man’s arm at his presumption but Willa merely leaned down to kiss the Dwarfs cheek then laugh with the Man before her. “Oin, love, I wish you to meet Hugin, Lord Rivers. He is the Captain of Dale now.”

Lord Rivers took in the pair of them and took a step back at Oin’s flustered veneer. Willa who stood a foot taller than her intended with her garrulous charm next to a quiet Dwarf. Olrun almost wanted to save the man found his surprise as it was just a shade too funny. Introductions were made with the Captain sneaking looks at the Lady Thrud at her side as he expounded to Oin the tale of Willa saving him from the Lake some six years ago. Olrun turned to the Lady Thrud to see a high blush creeping up from her beard. The comedy of the shared glances between Man and Dwarrowdam to the point here even Oin took notice.

Saying the right things at her farewell, Olrun set off to find her wandering Dwarrow. Willa was playing matchmaker as she left, and hopefully none of the Dwarrows close at hand would be offended. Females were in short supply in their race, for one to pick a Man instead of a Dwarrow might be construed as an insult to the male population. Stepping into the yawning Great Gates, Olrun set off to find the love of her life.

 

**88**88**

**Dwalin’s POV**

Below them at the great gates, King Fili raised his eldest to the assembled and call him ‘Crown Prince’. Dwalin shook his head at the young child who waived his helm to the joyous sea before him. Fian was sweet boy and would grow stronger than his sire. The Mannish blood of his dam would ensure it, no matter that it was weak Girion’s blood. The son of Fundin would make sure that the boy would be able to weld an axe as his Khudzul ancestors had, and the colossal tales of his life would ring in the Halls long after he awaited. Fian son of Fili son of Vali would make them all proud to be Dwarves of Erebor.

He didn’t hear her soft tread, not at first. Olrun could effect a light step in certain times when discretion was called. There had been a night she had come to the stables while he had tended their mounts. Dwalin had felt foolish when he noticed her but the kiss she bestowed had been enough to make him forget all but her.

“Such a clear night.” Dwalin didn’t turn at the voice nor did he greet its owner, only stared broodingly into the distance.

It was a clear night, bereft of clouds to subtract from the stars. The halls and grounds were bursting with people in the celebration for Erebor and Dale which culminated into an impromptu dance out on the meadow. Great bonfires had been lit to add some heat to the revealers when the beer failed to warm them. Long lines of children and adults, Dwarf and Man, danced hand to hand around the fires singing off key in the common tongue.

“Why are you not down there, Olrun?” Dwalin asked the Dwarrowdam as she took a stance beside him. “I recall you liked to dance.”

King Fili invited his near father, King Bard and theirs to join in the fun of the cheering crowd. Verily, the Thanes stood off to one side watching the dancing and point to others. The very pregnant Athane took a seat beside them with their youngest taking up what was left of her lap. The female had ballooned largely since he had left almost making him think she was bearing a litter.

“Dancing is for joy. I danced then to entice you, to make you see me.” There was a bit sway in her step as she brushed a hand upon his sleeve. “I danced for you to give me your heart.”

“Leaving you those years ago, severed my heart from my body. It was a wound that never healed, how could it when I left that organ with you?” Dwalin had learned to temper the danger of longing for something without the expectation of getting his desire. Now, this yearning was intensified carrying him away from his right mind and ethics.

“I don’t want you wounded, my love. I want you whole, I want you mine!” Tears clouded her vision, as emotion got the better of her control as she leaned into him. She has so beautiful in her emotions, then in the Iron Hills and even now by Erebor’s stars.

The yelling below grew louder as the revelers danced harder to the drums that pounded in the night. Not Orc drums but the song of life was being played out on their doorstep with Men and Dwarves partnering the tempo. The celebration wound higher as the gaiety streamed like the embers floating from the fires. The desired effect had been achieved, the two kingdoms were joined in jovial cheer.

Dwalin moved to her, turning his back on the party to take her hands in his. Gently as if he held the thinnest glass or the most delicate crystal, he kissed the palm of each hand. “I have often dreamed that in the twilight of our lives, when I owe no more to Erebor or Durin’s line. That I could be just a Dwarrow, that we might meet again. You would be dancing in the firelight and claim me yours…and know that I have loved you always.”

“I have dreamed of that too.” He met her forehead with his own, kissing away the tears while some fell to the bodice of her gown. “There could never be another for me, Dwalin. You are my One, my eternity.”

The Great Smith made Dwarrowdams to please the eye, and confound the mind. Yet for all of His gifts, they are by far the most deadly. They loved without reserve and with no equal. A Dwarrow could only gasp in a Dwarrowdam’s wake and beg for each dawn to see the sunrise in her smile. A Dwarf would always know the female he was meant to be with because she made him weak. Until she claimed him that is, and makes him strong again. Whole and complete.

“Love is unending. That is its terror and its final beauty. All we can do is bear it and hope it doesn’t break us like an ill forged sword.” His fingers stroke the plains of her face, thumbing the lover’s knot at her chin. “You have always been wilder than battle inside my mind, sharper than steel. Each action, every action you take, it has my name upon it and my axe behind it.”

Olrun smiled at him, and with loving care spoke softly. “Dwalin, son of Fundin. I would claim-”

“Hold!”

Thorin Stonehelm strode from the entrance where he had been listening, eavesdropping for lack of better term. Dwalin yanked up an axe at his side to push Olrun behind him. He would not allow Dain’s child here in this moment, not now. The tattooed Dwarrow wanted this claiming, had dreamed of it for so long. Olrun was a female that knew him, understood the Dwarf he wanted to be and wouldn’t allow him to be less. She was his One, the only one.

“Step away, Stonehelm!” Dwalin snarled at him with his axe raised. His anger radiated from his bald head down to his boots in crackling waves.

“So you know me? Then you know why I am here.” Thorin breathed deep. “Come cousin, we must away.”

Dressed in simple gear, his darker clothes blended him into the stone at his back. Like a thief, Dwalin thought angrily. Skulking about worse than the Fox, and always where he was not wanted. The tattooed Dwarf would not have it any longer. He had no problems calling a boar a pig if the rooter interfered in his life!

Olrun dug her fingers into his sleeves, burrowed into his back. She knew enough to lock herself between the hard Dwarrow before her and the unforgiving stone rampart at her back. “No. I claim Dwalin, son of Fundin as mine own. I will not go back, Thorin!”

Her angst upset him further, making his grip on the axe that much tighter. Snorting at the Stonehelm, like an enraged bull, Dwalin visually dared him to take a step in their direction. There would be blood splattered on the balcony if the Piglet thought Olrun was leaving here with him.

Thorin sighed tiredly as if he wanted to be anywhere else but here. “You cannot claim him. My father will never allow it!”

“Your father has no say! Be gone, Dwarrow! You can’t prevent a claiming unless the Dwarrow abjures. And I will NOT!” Dwalin fair roared the last. “I will cleave you in two if you try to take her from this mountain against her will!”

Olrun shook behind him with the adrenaline as the violence clouded in the air. The Stonehelm’s gaze looked over his shoulder at Olrun then back to Dwalin. It was a speculative look not angry, only watchful when he should be aggressive. Dwalin knew _he_ would be, he would always be aggressive where Olrun was concerned.

“You could cut me in two, cousin? Hmmm” The Dwarrow took two steps to the left with Dwalin moving in concert, pushing Olrun to the other exit. “Who else? My father, Dain? How many of our cousins will be sliced and diced? Is she worth it? Is your love for Olrun daughter of Tarag strong enough to live through a thunder battle of death? My father will never let her go.”

“He won’t come here! It will never be war!” Olrun cried behind him, denying everything the Stonehelm said. But Dwalin could see the Dwarrow believed every word he spoke.

“It is why there were ponies in the baggage, so that I could take her away faster should there be a need.” His gaze was pathetic, sad, like he felt sorry for his Erebor cousin. “My father will march on the Mountain and kill any that keeps her from him. I know this, my mother knows this. She loves him, loves him more by far then Adad deserves. It is for her that I do this now. So speak and tell me true.”

“Nothing but death will take her from me!” Dwalin slammed the spiked point into the stone beneath their feet. “I will love her until the last breath. Is that why you have been so infuriatingly close?”

Thorin wiped a hand down his face to tangle in his braids. He looked towards the valley as his eyes took a glassy film. Whatever he thought of his father, he loved his Amad. Dwalin remembered Kibil at their leaving and her tight expression at Olrun’s name as well as Dain’s warning that Fili couldn’t have Olrun. The weeks of travel had pushed that away at being able to be close to Olrun once more with the Stonehelm hovering like a nervous nanny.

“I had to know, be sure that you loved her enough to fight for her, Dwalin.” He was quiet now, sadder than he had been. “Will Fili have war with the Iron Hills over a Dwarrowdam that was not his?”

Dwalin felt the trap of the words but refused the bait. He wasn’t one for the politics preferring his life as a soldier and Captain to the King. He wanted more than anything to be Olrun’s Dwarf but war would change their lives again. War would take lives that were just beginning anew.

“Thanu Men needs no provocation, Zigal was beyond insulting when last he came. It was the King’s justice that met that insult.” Dwalin watched the Dwarrow with a curled lip, arms loose if there was need. He didn’t trust the Dwarf who has slinked about the Mountain in previous days.

“King’s Justice.” Thorin scoffed. “A crazed Dwarf who allowed an Elf witch to turn his brain. He is a liability, Dwalin and should be put down for his insanity.”

He would not quibble with the Iron Hills Prince nor would he insult his own. Kili had demons of his own that he fought for his reasons known only to himself. If he loved an Elf witch and called her his One, who was Dwalin to tell him it wasn’t real? Dwarrows lived with the illusion of maybe finding a love one day. Feeling his One behind him, Dwalin knew that love will craze the mind faster than magic snares. Look at him now, holding off an Iron Court Prince from his cousin, all for love. Kili had known pain and the look on his face that last morning before he left reminded Dwalin of his own before he left for the Iron Court. Maybe he loved as well.

“There is a dark music in the screams of your enemies. Prince Kili’s knows that melody better than most.” Dwalin snarled at Thorin. “A few have found that out in the end.”

Thorin stiffened. He knew about the ones who had helped Thorin capture Kili and his Elf, Dwalin could see by the Dwarf’s expression. It had never been acknowledged that the King’s Justice had gone for the Dwarves that had help Thorin in his mad days, only that one had been found with a black fletched arrow through the throat passed the Iron Gates. The sidelong glances between his brother and the King had been enough for him to know the truth.

“What will you do now, Thorin?” Her voice quivered. She had not relaxed her grip upon his body.

“I will leave when the first raven arrives, that should be in another week. It was all you were to be allowed. On behalf of my mother, Athane Kibil, I offer felicitations upon your claiming, Dwalin, son of Fundin.” Thorin scratched his beard. “Adad won’t come until spring that gives you time to court before an official betrothal. The Abkarul Hakhd will not be able to move at distance when the cold and snows come then he will march on the Mountain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. Ok.. I saw this as poetic justice for Herja because she had thought to do the same to Kili.. It just tickled me so much !


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a place for us  
> Somewhere a place for us  
> Peace and quiet and open air  
> Wait for us somewhere
> 
> There's a time for us  
> Some day a time for us  
> Time together and time to spare  
> Time to learn, time to care
> 
> Some day, somewhere  
> We'll find a new way of living  
> We'll find a way of forgiving  
> Somewhere
> 
> ~ Il Divo - Somewhere ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok.. Sexy times... Behold more smut!
> 
> Fili/Sigrid, Funny Tauriel/ Kili with Bain/Arnorra (no sexy there)
> 
> Herja's and her hobbits.

Morning after in Erebor

Fili bit his lip as his beloved shook atop him. Her pleasure was his privilege, each sigh and gasp permitted him the license to touch the divinity that enchanted him every day. She was entitled to all of him yet gave of herself without hesitation. The wet grasp of her body wrung a peal of groans from the depths of his soul as ecstasy sizzled along his spine in heated spikes to deflate his thoughts. His legs quacked as he felt the bliss splintered along his fingers and toes.

“Oh, my darling love.” Her fingers combed through his head as he raised his head to meet her descending lips. The kiss was as exhilarating as her long fingers tightened just short of pain, giving the rapture an extra bite.

Always in the later months of her bearing, Sigrid’s appetite increased and not just for food much to his delight. It was a surprise for the Fili as his loving wife changed from demurely sweet to impassioned in their lovemaking. Eagerly, she would seek him out during the day even being so bold once as to pull him from a council meeting. But her bearing was not on the later stages that he would see this activity, at most according to Willa, Sigrid was but halfway. If their congress continued to increase, his manhood would be in danger of erosion.

She tucked herself into the croak of his arm, laying her blond head upon his shoulder. Her expanded middle rubbed his leg, making Fili moan lightly at the sensation. He loved to see her body change as it grew his child, the beautiful markings along her belly as it swelled. In spite of the horrendous beginning, Fili was quite looking forward their baby. Tracing a finger along the groves in her skin, he kissed her head has she snuggled closer to him. Willa was happy with her progress despite her advanced size, saying that the Queen glowed as her health returned to a normal state. Fili was of the option is was their increased attentions to the other that caused the glow.

“I cannot get enough of you.” Sigrid whispered in the dark as her fingers twined into his chest hair.

Fili breathed his contentment. “I don’t want you too. You might look to another and I would have to take his head.”

“Never! None compares to you!” Sigrid giggled as she kissed him.

Fili groaned anew as she tried to swing a leg over him again but was only met with laughter. The bedplay got louder as his fingers visited her ticklish spots and his beautiful wife sought to escape him. She almost made it when a loud bang at the anteroom door crashed through their rooms. A series followed as a mailed fist made contact with the wood again and again. Fili detangled himself, grabbing his pants that he had tossed from the night before. He took a single head axe from behind the door, just in case there might be trouble.

“Fili!” Sigrid’s voice jerked his attention to find her wrapped in a sheet on bed and trying to leave it.

“Stay here.” He commanded as he left for the outer door.

Blain opened the door to the children’s room, looking bleary with sleep and concern. The fist pounded the door again, snapping him from his daze. Fili motioned the Stripling back into the room and shut the door as one of the boys yawn in their sleep from the darkness. Whomever came at this hour wouldn’t bring glad tidings and the less ears hearing it the better.

 

Fili wrenched open the door to come face to face with Dwalin and Balin. Neither looked happy. “What is the meaning of this? It’s the middle of the night.”

“Herja has escaped. Gimli, Lady Eir and one of the Iron Hills ‘dams were found in her rooms.” Balin told him quietly, nonchalantly looking over Fili’s shoulder. “How is the Queen?”

Fili looked as well, but Sigrid had not come from their bedchamber. “The Queen is well. Begin a search, start with the rooms of ‘dams that are friendly to her and lockdown the Gates. I don’t want her getting outside Erebor. Expand from there to any who might be in league with her. I will join you shortly but have some of Sigrid’s guard report. I don’t want her alone until Herja is found.”

“Yes, Thanu Men. It was the Lady Skuld from the Iron Hills that was with the Lady Eir, likely drugged as it was hard to rouse them.” Dwalin told him with snort. “There is also more that needs telling.”

There always is, Fili thought, our revels have now ended, and the time of plagues will begin. “Meet me in the council room in an hour.”

***************

Morning in Helm’s Deep

Bain awoke to a slight grunting noise that startled him from his dreams. Sitting up quickly, he looked to the bed under the high window at the large mound of blankets wrapping the occupant. Or occupants in this case. There was a grunt and snort again and Bain felt a hot embarrassment steal his senses as he heard a long exhale from the same general direction.

Angry at the discomfiture of the situation, he leaned down and picked up a boot to toss in the direction of the bed. “Stop that! I am in the room and I know what you are doing under the blanket!”

The patched coverlet was tossed aside to reveal a peeved Elf and her long stare. Smoothing the heavy mane of hair from her face, Tauriel gave him a gimlet look. “He was having a dream. I was attempting to calm him when you threw your boot at him.”

Yanking the dark leather object from the bottom of the bed where it landed, the Elf lobbed it back to it’s owner before settling back once more into Kili’s arms. She didn’t cover her face but the piercing look made Bain more uncomfortable than the imagined acts they might have been doing.

“Sorry.”

Looking around, he could see Dorlad was already up and gone if the empty bed was any indication. It had been a good idea to him at least, not wishing to see them parted if neither wished it. With Kili and Tauriel twined upon the Dwarf’s bed, Bain had felt safe that there would be no hijinks with two others in the room. His friend had nightmares on and off during their trip, and they had not let loose their grip. He had hoped that Tauriel would help Kili push aside those bad dreams and she might yet with time.

Bain dressed, deciding to rise and check the animals. The wedding would be tomorrow and much would need to be accomplished in the ensuing days, so why not get started now. “I do apologize to you both.”

It meager at best but he meant it. Straightening the blanket on his bed, Bain walked to the door when a heavy heart until he heard a distinctive snicker under the blanket that housed his friend. Looking over his shoulder, Kili had exposed himself, pushing away their covers as he tried and failed to contain his laughter. Tauriel merely looked at him with the slightest curl of a lip that hinted at a smile.

“Fiend.” Bain hissed at him.

“If it helps, it started as a dream that became reality.” The Dwarf pulled his Elf close for a kiss that became quite heated.

“Fiends, the both of you.” The Prince of Dale grumbled as he left the room.

It was a mad world that saw a two individuals coupling in the same room with others. He could only hope that whist they were traveling there might be more circumspection and less exuberance from the pair. In a cold winter, the foliage wouldn’t be so thick as to completely conceal them in the bushes if they happened to wander for some privacy. Bain might stumbled upon his friends exposing more than he needed to see.

His thoughts going into uneven directions of worry and embarrassment, a flash of green startled him into a wall before he could stop. “Well met, Lady Arnorra!”

Arnorra smiled and Bain thought not for the first time how pretty she was. Her green dress might have been darker once but many washings had faded the fabric to pale young apple skin. It did much for her gray eyes and darker hair. Arnorra had the look of her mother with little of the Lord that he could see.

“I go to see Dernhelm.” She whispered. “My mader has kept me in rooms but I release myself.”

Another who sneaks about, Bain thought with a smile. He knew he had seen very little of her in the last two days, mostly at a distance. There had been more of Lifa’s presence and anger she wore like a favorite tunic. Last evening had seen her shooting venomous looks at their table as they sat with Weland and Dernhelm.

“Dernhelm is a fine Rider, my Lady. Tauriel thinks highly of so many here, you included. I know she will be sad to leave so many fine people.” Tauriel had thought highly of both daughters as well but out of necessity gave them a wide berth, preferring to spend her time with Kili and the rest.

“My mader sadder to see Lady Elf go. ‘Lost me my servant’ she says for days. Mader cannot show Lady Elf to her cousin when he comes.” Arnorra snarked in her halting speech as she pointed a direction she was going.

They neared the Bailey as the chill became more pronounced. The activity also increased here as more people were up doing their daily work. The Lady Arnorra stopped to a few and spoke to others while Bain waited, mentally jumping with her words. Saying them back to himself, a few questions floated to the surface of his mind.

“What is an Elf to her cousin?” It was confusing to say the least. Her words were not wrong but the ones missing would have helped long the conversation, Bain thought.

“Mader is Lady of Helm’s Deep but to have Lady Elf here was very important. Mader wanted to travel to Gondor in Spring and show Lady Tauriel to family.” The slap of the cold morning jolted Bain as Arnorra gasped and looked to him with a huge grin. Dernhelm was leading his limping gelding up the incline and in the general direction of the stable entrance.

Bain chuckled at her enthusiasm as she sprinted down the way. He raised a hand in Dernhelm’s direction in greeting as the Rider smiled at the beautiful girl before him. Her manner was not affected with him, speaking quietly in Rohirric as they both looked to him now. No, the Lady’s affections were firmly with the Rider, Bain thought with a grin and rightly so. He could not have born the flattering looks to closely as the Elves might.

The words snapped together suddenly as he remember Kili mentioning that Tauriel would have hated Gondor for they revere Elves in as much as their Steward and lost Kings. Last evening, they had discussed getting a small house near from Minas Tirth or Osgiliath where they would have privacy. The idea of people staring at the shy Silvan had her ears turning pink with embarrassment last night. Alfgivia was from Gondor herself and must have thought herself privileged to have a member of the First Born as a retainer. Her family would have been most impressed and too would a third son from a great family.

The coldness of that thought rankled Bain as he sought out to find Dorlad and confess his thoughts.

*************

Fili downed his tankard of ale with less enthusiasm than he had the night before. He grabbed crust of bread from the table as Dwalin finished his tale of his own evening. Congratulations had a hollow ring to it as the King under the Mountain watched his Captain finger his new courting plait. Hollow, Fili thought with anger that his friend had found his love but the might lose friends and family because of it. Love wasn’t meant to be that way, love was supposed to give never take and steal. Dain would see the edge of Fili’s axe before he would ask Dwalin to let go of his female.

The search continued for the escaped Dwarrowdam and it did nothing to help Fili’s mood. Several areas had been cleared immediately with many rooms and halls to go. The King had met with Ladies Eir and Skuld once he arrived to the Council chamber. Oin was passing a light before Gimli’s dazed face and agreed that it was a drug of some sort but it had so far no ill effects upon trio found.

Eir and the Iron Hills ‘dam were not so dispatched and were able to answer questions with little slurring or sway. They admitted to feeling sorry for Herja and went to see her with intentions of trying to induce her to a happier state. They had taken tea and Aleberry with them for a small party with the secluded ‘dam, even inviting the door warden Gimli to join them. After a bit, they felt sleepy and couldn’t stir themselves from the seat. The tea and Aleberry were drank and couldn’t be tested for toxins, making Fili feel so much worse for the situation.

Dwalin had called for Olrun and Verdandi to come for the ladies. There was a decidedly pinched expression upon the Lady Verdandi’s face as she took her niece, Skuld, into her arms. The King watched Olrun place an arm about the Lady Eir with a compressed mien and flashing eyes. The ladies were not happy at the abuse suffered by their kinswoman and Fili felt a measure of responsibility for what they were going through. Herja had much explaining to do when she was found.

“Balin, call forth the piglet.” Fili huffed a sigh as he tried to find some peace for the next interview.

That Thorin had come to the Mountain made Fili apprehensive, that he did it with subterfuge, angered him greatly. Dain was his vassal and he had given fealty six years ago after a heated debate. He had not gone quietly back to the Iron Hills nor had he been quiet once he returned. Whatever his unnatural attachment to his cousin, this sort of behavior was not befitting a Thane of anything.

Galar walked to the chamber door and shouted out into the Throne room. “Come forth, Dain’s Piglet!”

A broad Dwarrow growled into the room with the distinctive stamp of his sire upon his countenance. The flaming braids and dyspeptic air was a younger Dain or Fili would eat his beard. They had never met for it had been Thorin who treated with Dain in the ensuring years since Erebor was lost. Fili had been left to guardian work and statecraft education when there was time. He now realized how his ignorance at his extended people could cost him. Fili might have passed this Dwarf on the promenade and never that that he was anything but an Erebor Dwarf.

Twittering laugher escaped a few at the large table as the red faced Dwarrow gnashed his teeth behind a red beard. “I am a Prince of the Iron Court. My father sits a throne and I am due no less respect.”

Brave, Fili thought as an eyebrow flicked towards his hair. The gambeson the Iron Court Prince wore was well made as were the worn boots. The thick surcoat that covered the Stonehelm was nondescript but it hid a short sword and a knife or two most likely. His whole appearance was trivial so that one might look and then overlook him. Fili, himself, would never have considered walking about the Iron Hills with less than a few knives and an axe of his own just for the showing. The Dwarrow before him was no fool to come unarmed to this assembly despite his vassal status.

“A Prince walks into my Throne Room and presents himself if he wants respect. He doesn’t skulk in shadows and behind doors like a sly thief.” Fili let some of his anger show to remind the Dwarrow of his place in the room. “Yes, I see you Nori, that comment wasn’t about you.”

“Ok, just so we are clear.” The star haired Dwarf called from a corner to bring the twittering into outright laughter.

The Nori the Fox had little sleep if the bags under his eyes were any indication. Balin asked much of the Dwarrow for he could find out things that others might not. His spymaster, the old Dwarf called their companion with chuckle. That said Dwarf’s character slid to the middle grays rather than black or white of a situation help them all immeasurably.

“I won’t be wronged, nor insulted. In my life, mine honor would not allow me to treat others in that fashion so I will demand the same.” Thorin Stonehelm was impressive in his anger, drawing up to snarl like a bristled boar. “I bend a knee to the Iron Court who in turn bows to you, Thanu Men. You have my allegiance but not my respect unless it is earned.”

Fili rose slowly out of his chair, taking his axe with him. He walked with a looping gate that one finds on cats and wargs when they hunt. Many around the room smiled in bestial glee, hoping for the King to take the Stonehelm’s head for a trophy. The body would hang above the Gates and herald a great Dwarf war that was already started thanks to a princely spy.

“You should have thought of your honor before you left the Iron Court, Thorin son of Dain. I think of mine each day that I sit upon those purple cushions.” Fili stopped within striking distance of the Dwarf who he barely knew but shared common ties. Blood wouldn’t be enough to keep him alive if Thorin couldn’t hold his tongue. “Dwalin says you threaten for your father to march upon my Mountain if the Dwarrowdam isn’t returned.”

“He will bring every sounder in the halls. Adad will not be denied that which he covets. There will be words of you stealing Iron court Dwarrows but Olrun will be the quiet reason.” He cast a look to Dwalin but said nothing more for the moment as if shame bottled his reasons.

“And you called my brother crazed? Dain should know Dwarrowdams are force unto themselves. As I understand it this morning, Dwalin was claimed by the Lady for her own. Her family, excluding yourself, will be given sanctuary as chaperones for their courting.” Fili started him for a moment, his eyes like blazing fire. “Now if your father doesn’t approve of Khudzul customs, he is welcome to the Mountain Court to…. _debate_ the issue.”

There was rustling back and forth to his right but Fili never took his eyes from the Dwarf before him. Striplings brought food so that the Dwarrows locked in council might break their fast. Smells of roasted pork and fresh bread penetrated the room, making the King’s mouth water but still he kept his attention before him. He would eat once the Dwarrow left and not invite him to a place at his table. As far as Fili was concerned, Thorin had invaded his hall and was due nothing but an indifferent farewell.

“My Amad and I congratulate our cousins and wish them every joy. Our Stiffbeard kinsmen would do the same. That you hold with our traditions fills me with happiness as my beloved cousin will be a part of the Mountain Court. Her life will be as she wishes and not as my Adad would have it. She will marry Dwalin, bear children if the Maker is kind.” Thorin looked to the captain and gave him a bow. “I will do as my Adad commands, King Fili and he will bring war to Erebor. So…. I must as well.”

He doesn’t want this, Fili realized. Thorin didn’t want this anymore than he but Dain would not be refused his wants. Olrun had said as much in days past but Fili had other concerns taking his thoughts for him to give it more than he had. Thorin Stonehelm possessed good sense and his loyalty was to his family first, he would follow where his father led.

“You will be given provisions and an escort to the Stone Gate and you will leave today.” Fili watched the Dwarf for any indications of falsehood. “Cannot your father’s thinking be turned?”

“No, Thanu Men. He will be in most sincere earnest.” Thorin bowed his head. “A long escort will not be necessary. Adad will have sent riders two weeks after we left the Iron court. They will be almost to Red Springs by now.”

Dwalin and a few others began yelling at the words but Fili motioned for the Dwarf to leave. The loud banging as the assembled whipped themselves into a righteous anger for the affront. Fili watched the Dwarf leave with a thought that the son of Dain carried a great weight upon him. He loved his mother, yet served his father and his never ending obsession with another female. What might their court be like, Fili thought as the door closed.

“You think Dain will go this far?” Galar asked with concern as the din quieted and the rage slowed to a crawl.

“Yes,” Fili replied looking at Balin with grim determination. “He wanted the Mountain six years ago but I thwarted him. It has ever been a thorn in his flesh. Now, he has provocation. This Dwarrowdam will be fire that fries the pigs. What we need are reinforcements in place before he arrives. The boars are useless until spring, that gives us time.”

“Dale will stand with you and Thranduil for them but we need Dwarves to mediate and not the Blacklocks.” Balin said as he pulled some parchment from his stack. “That tribe will claim every gem in the treasure halls for their trouble. We need Dwarves that can get here at speed during the winter.”

Time sped by and afternoon came as ideas were poured forth from each corner. Nori left to make himself useful in different avenues. The major defenses of Erebor had been implemented to stand against Dragons or Elves if Thranduil wanted to put forth a challenge, yet nothing that was capable to thwart the charge of the Ironfoot and his Armored Tooth. It had escaped them entirely that they might be at risk in the one area they felt the safest. The Seven Tribes had bent a knee to the Mountain once and it had been reaffirmed upon Fili’s coronation. It was Dain who had barked the loudest during that year and continued when the spring or fall caravans arrived to the Mountain. That their own would come for them in such a matter, a Longbeard and closer kin, a member of the Durin’s Folk shocked them all.

Ori barreled in quite out of breath, straight to Fili and began heatedly whispering. Many turned in question but waited until Fili reared back with a laugh. “If you are lying, Ori, I will have your braids for it.”

“You are welcome to them, Thanu Men if it’s in the line of duty! However, every word is true!”

Fili bent forward laughing until he began to cough, “My fine Dwarrows, Lady Herja has been found and collected. Lets us adjourn to the Throne Room to converse with her accomplices.”

The chairs were pushed back as the council stood to file from the room. He noticed for the first time that his Amad was not present. While he knew Sigrid and she had spoke, Fili had not made such an effort with her. His feelings were still sore that she might take steps concerning his children and didn’t think about what he might feel. Many times she had taken Dwalin and Balin to task for overstepping what she felt their bounds were in relation to her boys. Thorin as her brother and King, she swiped at only in private.

Motioning to a court stripling, Fili advised. “Find the Princess Dis and have her come to the Throne room.”

The boy ran off to through the back passage at top speed as Fili walked to the Throne Room’s entrance. The majesty of the room never failed to take his breath and in times like these there was certain merriment to the drama. Random Dwarrows, singly and in groups congregated at different points of the long room, trying and failing to not seem interested in the two Stoor Hobbits barely clothed.

The envoys’ sheepish demeanor corresponded with their blushing faces as they quickly donned their tunics. The large feet, preeminent feature of their race, shrunk under the weight of his stare. The two Stoors cast fearful glances about the room as if any moment they would be struck down for the situation they found themselves.

Fili stepped beside Ori. “Where is the Dwarrowdam?” He could not find it in himself to call her ‘lady’ anymore.

“She is being held in a Barrack’s meeting room. I wasn’t sure if you wish to interview them together or separately.” Ori murmured back to him as he fiddled with his surcoat with ink stained fingers. He was as agitated as the Stoors.

“That is good thinking. Let us begin.” Fili walked in front of the Dais, making sure that the Stoors saw him as well as the Throne behind him. “Everyone clear the room, save Erebor Guard and Council members. This is an affair of state.”

There was muttering on different levels as the Dwarves made their way to the exit at the rear of the room. Many drug their feet and cast glances over their shoulder, hoping for some tidbit for the betting pools in the taverns. Everyone in the Mountain knew Herja had run, there was nothing Fili could do about the gossip due to the intensive search and orders for immediate capture. Her reputation was in shreds and could never be stitched together again. A patched up marriage was the best that could be done if the Stoor Dingol was willing.

The doors clanged shut, signaling Fili to begin. “Dingol of the River folk. You were found in your rooms with a Dwarrowdam who is shadowed by scandal. What can you tell me about this event?”

The Hobbits nervously swallowed several times, clutching their pants up for lack of a belt. Dingol stepped forward and raised pleading eyes to Fili. “King under the Mountain. I have no knowledge of last evening’s event. I was most surprised when your guard entered my room and there was a female in my bed!” His voice rose higher and higher with each word until it was at an octave below screeching. “I swear! I drank at the tavern last night and remember little else from that evening!”

The fellow Hobbit at his elbow nodded vigorously but said nothing. This Stoor had been very quiet during negotiations but considering the play made by Silvan Elves not long ago, Fili didn’t make the assumption the Silent One wasn’t important. The King watched for signs of a lie and found none.

“You say you went drinking last evening, which tavern?” Fili folded his arms at his chest as he watched them.

“Nori’s, good King.”

“Ori, call forth your brother for testimony.” Thane told the Scribe who ran from the door in short order.

Fili didn’t expect Nori to remember every patron but the Fox always knew more than he let on. Pacing now before the Throne, he could hear the Hobbits whispering to each other fearfully as time marched steadily and the day followed.

Ori didn’t have far to go, possibly just down the hall. He came back in a rush with the surcoat billowing at his legs and his brother in tow. “Nori, I have a question that needs an answer.”

Nori looked around the room as he bowed deeply. “Thanu Men, how might I serve Erebor?”

The words were correct and so was the mien but Fili was never fooled. The Fox might put on a show for the Hobbits but Nori ran his own thinking. As Thane, he had never required the genuflection of the Company or barely anyone else. Respect to him was earned and never forced, he would not be the despot to his people with a boot upon their neck.

“Did you see these Hobbits last night in the tavern?” He asked, ignoring the hopeful expressions on the Stoors’ face.

“I did, yes Sire. Dingol there had the new beer we got from the Iron Hills just before Durin’s Day. Got soused the both of them. Had to almost drag them to quarters.” Nori shrugged as the Hobbits almost fainted with relief.

Fili scratched his chin as he looked at the member of Thorin’s company. “Were they alone with you left them?”

“Yeah, dropped them and left them. They was singing some song of water and juicy fish.” Nori adopted a confused look as he looked to Hobbits. “I thought I saw a skirt at a corner but not sure.”

“A skirt?” Balin asked with confusion.

“Yeah. Like a female wears but it was quick and I had to get back. The Tavern was busted full.” The star haired Dwarf looked back to front at all of them, never settling.

The Hobbit, Dingol pipped up, all but excited at this news. “I remember the corridor but nothing after that. So you see, good King, we tempted not a female if we were alone in our rooms.”

“No.” Fili agreed as another idea came to him in light of Nori’s accounting of the events. “Have you met this female previously?”

The whispering began again as the two Hobbits conversed to themselves behind the wall of guards. They were frightened, Fili could see that much but the whole of it was unnecessary. Dingol had been found with Herja and that was still a licentious act. Trying and failing to keep his temper, the Thane cut his attention to Balin who in turn shrugged his shoulders.

“Yes, good King.” Dingol piped up as they finally decided to come clean with their information. “She was most kind in requesting information one day about River folk. We have more females in some years than males and that was fascinating to her.”

The Stoors had a matrilineal society, a Heafda who ruled their clan. It would a different life where females were in a higher population than males, a reversal of life here in Erebor. Considering Herja’s viewpoint of females here, a matrilineal life would have vastly appealed. The idea of marrying her to this Hobbit Dingol would strike through a number of problems.

“I see. We thank you for your honestly but understand this situation has a far reaching aspect. Have you a wife already, Dingol of the River Folk?” Fili asked with a smile as few in the room choked upon their laughter.

“uh..no, Good King. I have not been blessed.” Dingol’s head dropped as if he were fading in the floor. His friend patted the Hobbit on the back in apology.

“The day isn’t over yet.” Fili turned to walk up the dais to his throne for this next part. It would not due for him to look less than regal. “Galar, ask my wife the Queen to join us. Have the children brought to the Water Chamber under the Queen’s Dwarrows. Then call for Herja to be brought to the Throne room.”

It wasn’t necessary that Sigrid come but Fili wanted her there. He had been there the day she took Herja’s braids, seen the look on her face when she cast them into the fire in the Gallery of Kings. This was as much for her as it was for the Kingdom. There was no wiggle in this situation. The horrible ugly of it crashed down upon Fili in a deluge of excrement and rotten things. Dwalin, Gimli had been touched in this morass of ill fitted garbage, they would have been fighting off claims from females simply for being of the Line of Durin. If Kili were still in the Mountain, his name would be bandied about as well. No doubt Kili might have found himself awakened with ‘dam in his bed after a night of excess.

Fili gruffed to himself at the thought of his brother. There had been no news of late, no sightings reported by the Ravens or the Thrush. Rohan was the last they knew but birds’ flight paths had changed of late due to Crebain from Dunland’s increased activity in the southern plains. Mayhap, she had found her way to Gondor, Fili thought as Sigrid hurried into the Throne room. It was a fair stretch for an Elf who had never left her woods except to follow his errant brother. Now the errant brother followed her.

“What is this news, I hear? Herja in bed with a Hobbit?” Sigrid asked as she smoothed down her red gown over her expanded belly.

“Yes, that is the report.” Fili kissed her hand as he leaned forward so that they might engage the intimacy of softer tones. “I want you with me during the inquisition.”

“Of Course!”

They each settled as Fili nodded to Galar who signed for Herja to come forth. The guards marched into sight through the council room, in front of the Dwarrowdam and two behind her. She drew every eye in the room as she swept passed into position next to the Hobbits, never sparing them a glance. It was Herja who was before the Throne like a prisoner in common drapery. She did not stand with her head bowed as one might expect, clutching a blanket in subservience. The Dwarrowdam with her chin high, one dark eyebrow slightly raised, and she met the King's glare as if she were his equal, nay his superior.

Balin cleared his thought to begin, his voice ringing down the silent hall. “Herja, daughter of Braedi, you are charged with escaping your guarded seclusion and been found in company of Dingol, an envoy from the River Folk, in what we shall say.. less than customary attire. ”

Herja never spoke, just looked at Balin down the length of her nose. She never acknowledged that Balin, son of Fundin spoke a word as she glared him with hate filled eyes. The white linen shift covered her skin but it was the brown blanket that kept her pale fresh from view. Her clothes had been collected at the scene, bagged for Fili to see as there was much speculation at their condition according to Ori. Her posture borrowed a regal feel, the blanket tucked about her almost like a cape.

“Bring the evidence.” Balin called, looking to Fili who nodded his assent.

Two Dwarrows walked from the shadows, carrying something white away from their bodies. The grimacing look upon their faces indicated their displeasure at this act. Stretching the material taunt, several thick yellowish stains spider webbed the white surface, layered in odd intervals with streaks of red. Gasps sounded around the room Herja included, many pulled back into themselves, obviously disgusted at the sight. A red stained towel was produced, held aloft by tongs to reduce the possibility of her taint spreading to others.

“No! Thanu Men! No! I had no relations with these..these…” Words continued to fail her, shocked dumb as she was by all of this.

“My Lady, you were found in bed with a visiting envoy. There was another Hobbit in the next room. All of you unclothed. This, this … evidence is not biased but found at the scene! As a Dwarrowdam, you are aware of the laws against such lasciviousness!” Balin pointed to each article, but never so close that he befouled himself. Disgust coated each word as his normal distinguished air failed him.

“This is a lie! I am untouched and have guarded my chastity-“

Fili interrupted her rant. “How did you escape your seclusion? Two Dwarrowdams were found drugged in your rooms along with mine own kin!” Leaning forward, the King’s anger blazed forth at her like a physical strike. “Mine kin! What device did you use, Herja?”

“I have no knowledge of this, I know not what to say!” Herja wilted back from him, scared for the first time and rightly so. His retribution could not be denied for her actions and where she was found could not be explained.

“You speak of your chastity, Herja.” Sigrid spoke with a clearing ringing voice. “What of the chastity of the two defenseless ‘dams in your rooms? What evil might have befell them there?”

Herja sneered at the Queen, taking a step forward with vicious intent. The Queen’s guards, Uri and the hunter Reklar, stepped forward to block her. Reklar didn’t lay a hand upon her person, yet she bounced back from the deft shoulder the taller Dwarf employed. Herja didn’t try to attempt the Queen further but backed away to keep from looking up to the Queen’s elevated position.

“This is your fault, whore of Esgaroth! Had you not become the mad cow you are, this mess would never have happened!” Herja squealed much to everyone’s horror. “My King, surely you see that this would never have happened if we had a Dwarf Queen and not this harlot from the Long Lake!”

Fili was off the throne before she was finished her tirade, storming down the dais in long strides. The Dwarves parted like the branches of a tree during a gale, they scattered before him. His thunderous expression, however, didn’t scare Herja whose chin inched higher the closer he came. Balin and Galar as well as Dwalin made to stand between them but the King stopped just before a hand was laid upon him.

“What I see before me is a harlot, not my lover and One. You will keep that filth to yourself!” Fili gritted, enraged by his subject. “I see a female of my Kingdom who rolled herself into a luxurious bed and spread her legs for a male not her husband. I think you drugged the ladies and my kin to escape your rooms, then made her way to the Stoors to make some sort of deal. They were pissed drunk and knew no better but you did!” Balin’s head swung in his direction, the surprise was evidenced and his chancellor knew this. “Now you will pay for your sin, _my lady_. You will be married to this Hobbit Dingol and forthwith banished from Erebor!”

“No!” Herja screamed in shock and so many emotions, trying to rush at Fili but Dwalin shoved her back. “You cannot do this! I am a Dwarrowdam of Erebor!”

“That is precisely why I can do this. You are a Dwarrowdam of Erebor and have forfeit your rights due to your behavior. Your honor is in shambles and everyone knows this. Your continued disrespect to your Queen is intolerable. The fact that you deny and continue to lie to me in light of overwhelming evidence, is appalling. It makes me think you are a cankerous disease eating at our lives.” Fili leaned into her direction, enunciating each word. “You.. will.. leave.. this.. mountain.”

Fili turned away from her hysterics, unconcerned at what she said or how she felt. Sigrid stood beside her pillion, a calm face in the sea of turbulence. He walked back to his as she placed a hand upon her belly then gave him the other as he took a seat. Looking around the room, he could see none would disagree with his decision. His Amad had arrived somewhere in the mist of the chaos, standing in the wings with a closed look. She bowed her head in slight degrees but the look in her eye said the same as the others. _Finish what you have started_.

“I, Fili of Durin’s Folk, deem you Estranged.”

The Throne room went still, none spoke nor moved. To be Estranged from your folk was a death sentence to a Dwarf. Some could be banished and after a score of years, welcomed home. But to be Estranged meant that a Dwarf might be dying in the street and if another of his tribe ambled by, the dying went unseen. The Estranged were erased from their lives irrevocably, like they never existed. Their progeny was ignored and left to others for the Dwarves would close their gates to them. It was only dealt in extreme circumstances for the Estranged had no seat in the Halls of Waiting.

Balin stepped forward with Ori beside him as the smaller Dwarf scribbled line after line upon the parchment tray. “Herja, daughter of Braedi, you have been banished from Erebor and your line will be severed from Durin’s Folk. Fili son of Vali Axehand, sister son to Thorin II Oakenshield, King under the Mountain has degreed you among The Estranged. Your name shall not be sung in our halls nor any deeds spoke with valor.”

She stared at Fili for long moments, just staring. Herja could not see the depths of her sin, how far she had pushed their lives into a terrible crisis. It was the only way to begin the healing he wanted if they could excise the malignancy that was rotting the core of his people. With Herja gone, Fili knew he could focus on the coming threat from Dain without worrying that he might be stabbed in the back by his own people. Sigrid’s grip increased, supporting his decision. She would want this peace as much as he, for their children and the rest of the Mountain.

“Misery makes for strange bed fellows, my Lady.” Balin looked at her steadily. “And you have been miserable, have you not?”

Herja looked at Balin squarely, then to Fili and back to the chancellor with contempt. “What a creature must sit on the throne that deals this as justice!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry, this was supposed to get posted last night but I literally passed out..
> 
> I am going with the idea that the Hobbits constitution might run a little harder than Dwarves. The Valerian would have lost its effects on them before the Dwarves. If they drank the extract about 7ish in the evening by say 2ish in the afternoon, they would be good to go.
> 
> Bain needs to get laid.. I am all for Dorlad taking him to a cat house in Gondor to mellow him out a little. Thoughts?  
> Yes, I totally stole the last line from Raphael Sabatini’s Captain Blood and gave it a twist. I have loved it always..


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All that glisters is not gold;   
> Often have you heard that told:  
> Many a man his life has sold   
> But my outside to behold:  
> Gilded tombs do worms enfold   
> Had you been as wise as bold,  
> Your in limbs, in judgment old,  
> Your answer had not been in'scroll'd  
> Fare you well: your suit is cold.' Cold, indeed, and labour lost: Then, farewell, heat and welcome, frost!
> 
> Merchant of Venice by W. Shakespeare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short update. Bofur, Tindri and Hannar at Nori's tavern
> 
> .

Dwarves are not lazy as some might think, rising early and working until late. The miners were apart of this diligent class with Bofur and Tindri at the fore. They exacted a schedule that left the maximum amount of rest times for the Dwarves and rotating afternoon naps before the shifts chiseled ahead to work into the later evenings. It served many a Dwarrow well, allowing for families and communal times that were so centrally important in Dwarven culture. The Mining Guild were happy with the direction of Tindri had taken with the techniques gleaned from hard years in various excursions, exulting him and Bofur both for their innovation.

So this morning when the older member of Thorin’s company put out the notice for another free day in line with the two the miners had previously, many had been surprised but never angry. Their livelihood was not in jeopardy, nor did it make any Dwarves nervous at the prospect of yet another day unto themselves. It was Bofur who felt the need to realign himself after the shocks of last days and being away from pits was a comfort. Hannar had called for same today and closed the forges with Fili’s permission. Meeting up with Tindri and Hannar in the Nori’s tavern, they settled into their beer and stripped venison with a smile. They three didn’t have the opportunity often and relished it fortune bestowed a quiet personal day.

Bofur knew he didn’t always offered himself in a manner as completely servile as the rest of Thorin’s company. He had grown up in the mines himself, rarely seeing anyone higher on a social scale than his immediate supervisor. That kind of freedom resulted in a less that circumspect fashion of speech which was off putting to some and offensive to others when in mixed company. However, Fili didn’t care and until he did, Bofur would treat him the same. There was respect in his posture, ever respect for the King under the Mountain and his many kindnesses. It was sometimes hard to bow to a man who Bofur had seen streak through Rivendell’s paths with nothing upon his body except a smile.

Their adventures had wrought new ore to be found and the stones of Erebor yielded up fresh song to a patient ear. However, the last days in their recent lives had put his constructed world on its bottom. Life followed a certain shaft, always and always to Bofur’s thinking, until the vein of it was completely played out. Yet now, there were Dwarrowdams in bed with Hobbits, who had ever heard of such a thing? Hobbits were a braw sort and Bofur still held Bilbo as paragon of his race but two at once? A female of Erebor cavorting with the big footed whingers from the Riverlands with their pasty skin and no braids? When had their life become so tumbled?

Two fine ‘dams had been drugged down if the rumor was true along with Gloin’s nugget, Gimli. The females had been bad enough while Gloin had raged like a bull dragon for the insult to his flesh. Of course, it hadn’t been he who had been knocked down for hours while the Lady Herja escaped but Gloin cared about his boy and took offense in his name. The poor lad would be lucky to see daylight by his century birthday with his ma and da as the most effective door wardens.

The offensive ‘dam had been packed up with ludicrous speed according to his brother, Bombur who had it from Nori. Herja’s things would be shipped out this morning to reunion with their owner later today. The bets had been fast and fierce of late on the status of the King’s marriage to the lovely Sigrid with Herja heading the pack as the next Queen under the Mountain. Bofur had scoffed at the blowhards who said the King was looking in other pastures for a fit mare now that it was proven the Dale filly was a sprinter with no endurance for Dwarven bearing. He had been there when the Young King took his bride and none had watched the ceremony without tears or no small envy. Besides, betting against your sovereign was not always the most prudent thing.

Bofur mused as he drank his tankard that maybe it was love that chanced the ‘dam to hop upon the Hobbit. Love was in the air in present weeks or the Mountain was playing tricks upon hatted Dwarf and make no mistake. He understood the nature of males and needs, himself blessed with an urge now and again. But of late it was like springtime among the ewes. The party a day and night ago, had been great fun later when the revelers had been looking for dark corners. He had accidently walked upon two assignations between Dwarrows he knew from the mines, turning away quickly with embarrassment. That the Dwarves were plowing their wives in a corner instead of their soft beds bothered him greatly.

The most disturbing was catching Oin and his Healer in an alcove down from the Water chamber. The tall healer had skirts rucked up to her waist with the old Dwarrow’s face between her thighs as she panted his name. With all the gray hair on his friend from Thorin’s company, it looked as if Willa was trying to smuggle a fat old Warg between her thighs. Bofur had turned away in haste, trying not to giggle at the sight. A hall later he had run into Burin who as on the lookout for his missing courters but the hatted Dwarf sent him in another direction. Oin deserved some fun since he and Bifur were no longer left hand companions.

“What’s with this new business of mixing?” Tindri asked as he munched on some fried chips.

The tavern was busy with so many shutdowns in the mountain, they had been lucky to find a table. Bombur’s children were helping today and the young Striplings ran delivering orders and cleaning tables. They were hard workers, those lads and whether they followed their father’s brother to the mines to hear the song of the stone was still time to be determined. Bombur wouldn’t let all of them go but enough if that was what they wanted.

“What you mean?” Bofur looked over the crowd as Nori mingled here and there.

Hannar sat back in his seat with a grin. “Caught Uri, Duri’s brother snogging a chit last night. A girl of Dale as I understand it.” The big Dwarf laughed, slapping his leg. “Duri was in a right fit over it.”

“Duri has a fit if his bowels are not as loose as he likes. Tries to wind that young’un up too as a result.” Bofur offered as he continued to watch Nori with others. Why had he never noticed how the light pulls out the red in his many braids? “If Uri be happy, I say let it go. It’s his life for good or not.”

Tindri grumbled beside him. “One of those Dale men were sniffing after me daughter’s skirt last night. Had to tell him off right quick.” The Dwarf groused as he drank down his tankard. “Me Thrud isn’t for the likes of him. She’ll have a proper Dwarf or I’ll shit water instead of stone!”

Bofur and Hannar exchanged a look before chuckling quietly to themselves. They had both seen this Man of Dale with the Lady Thrud and _she_ not protesting in the slightest at her skirts being sniffed. The Lady Herja had cast a doom upon the Dwarrowdams of the Mountain, leaving them off balance and unsure. They each would have to step out of the shadow and find themselves now that their leader was Estranged and cast out. Many had stood at the balcony yesterday when Herja had left with the Hobbits for Dale. The word from Nori said the Lady would be there in a guest house until the Hobbits made arrangement to head home.

Strange days, Bofur thought as Nori brought him another tankard. Turning to his second, Bofur replied. “You have to admit, that if the ‘dam would do something so lascivious as take Hobbits to bed, she wasn’t a fit Dwarrowdam of the Mountain.”

“No, I agree.”Tindri conceded. “Worries me, how much of her influenced me daughter. I don’t want to hear of talk that Thrud was romping about! I raised a good daughter before Mahal! Mixing! Ha!”

The older Dwarf scrapped back his chair to toss a few coins upon the table top for his tab. His disgruntled look passed along to others who saw him, disgruntled in turn by their leader and taking his anxiety into themselves as if they too were affected. Bofur gave a bob of his flapping hat to a few who went back to their beers but still cast looks about as if disaster awaited them as it could in Tindri’s future.

Hannar took conversation behind him with another table of Dwarves as Tindri left the tavern, leaving Bofur with his own thoughts for the moment. What might a woman of Dale be like? He thought as recalled what he had heard. Pale things, not much hair upon their bodies like a proper Dwarrowdam possessed although that changed as the daughters of Men aged. Some had been known to sprout a beard but bore the chin hairs in ridiculous shame, or worse, they shaved! Taller to be sure and quite vigorous in bedplay no matter their years if the stories in the mine where true. He could find himself in Dale on a cold winter’s night and need some vigorous warming, supplied by a female of the same mind.

Nori walked by, giving him a sly smile as he was known to do with his friends. Bofur perked up as did another parts of him at that particular look from the many braided Dwarf. No, Bofur thought as he tossed a few coins into the pile to leave the tavern, no need to decide anything today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Wedding chapter is running to fast and needs serious editing.. I thought this was funny so I posted.  
> Bofur and Tindri work in the mines with Hannar head of the Forges.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love... made the song I sing to you.  
>  Love... rules the heart I bring to you.  
>  My weary feet had gone astray...  
>  but true devotion showed the way.  
>  No pow’r on Earth could set me free -  
> your tender arms have fettered me.  
>  My flower of sound is all your own -  
>  love made the song for you... alone. 
> 
> ~Ivor Novello - Love made the song ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Wedding Chapter..  
> The beginning starts with Kili's pov then after the vows Tauriel takes over

The bright sun over Rohan found Kili up and about before the golden orb reached the sky. It was his wedding day and he couldn’t be happier as spears of light shot through the jagged peaks to lift the stark gray of the Deeping Comb. While the ceremony wouldn’t be Dwarven nor would there be tales of his ancestors gracing the halls, Kili was at peace with the decision. Fili, though, was a different story. He wished his brother was here to stand with him when he exchanged rings with his Elf. The Rohirrim with their great love of ales and beer would complete the drinking side of the ceremony. However some possessed a genial attitude now, they were not his kin.

Kili walked out into the herds with feed bags for their horses, barely feeling the chill. He took the task gladly, making sure all was well for their trip in a few days time. His thoughts of life and what he knew of Elven customs held the floor and gained momentum as he rubbed a few flanks and necks of the horses he passed. Kili completely respected his wife and if she said that he was her husband, he would take the tongue of any who gainsayed her. Yet for all that, having it said before others was much different than a shag in the woods. This joining in Rohan satisfied the traditional part of him where there was something _officially_ pronounced between he and his amrậlime.

Kili and Tauriel had chosen the Hamlet set some miles away from the Hornburg just over the small rise to exchange their vows. It was a better choice than Helm’s Deep as there was no reason to shove their good fortune at the few who might still be raw over Werrmund. It was a modest village, supporting several families and livestock that he had seen in the distance upon arrival. Tauriel knew some of its people as their children were serviced at the Keep and had contact with them as a result. Children were precious to his Elf before their meeting years ago and it had not changed for her in spite of their tragedy.

Rohir that they had met and thought well of Tauriel would be coming tonight to bear witness to rejoice with them and show support for their union. Food had been sent from the Kitchens for a feast afterwards as well as stocking the empty cottage he and his wife would use later tonight. Dorlad had mentioned that the villagers looking forward to it as there had not been a celebration of any sort there since the ague. Many had lost family and needed some revelry and happier times if only for a few hours.

The trio had packed their things together from the guest room here at Helm’s deep, knowing that Kili and Tauriel would only come back before leaving in two days. Bain and Dorlad would stay at the Keep so that Kili and Tauriel might have some part of their golden weeks before they spend the rest of it on the road to Minas Tirith. Tauriel was also packing, saying good bye to those she knew and giving gifts of her things to others.

Aeldklif had gifted her with a black mare with a white star at her brow and white stockings, a pretty thing with fine limbs and deep chest. She bore the same keen gaze like many of the horses here as Tauriel made her acquaintance, naming her Gilesgal or Starshadow. Flandif had nipped the mare into place within their small herd with no complaint, while the others looked on with interest. Dorlad mentioned she seemed a might timid and would have had difficulty if a Rohir had ridden her to war. Courage was tantamount to their horses as well as the Riders, faint of heart would get someone killed.

Some of the Riders spared him a glance while others gave a nod and a smile. It was easier now to see who favored whom in his encounter as the Rohir were not a people to hid themselves. Their feelings were bare for any to see nor did they practice subterfuge. That Tauriel had not seen the interest of Werrmund was an indication that she wasn’t looking of it, or didn’t care at all. What little she had mentioned had described an eager youth not a grasping Man.

A cuffing sound drew the Dwarrow’s attention as the bundled Lord of the Keep walked to him, circling several horses as they stretched out a nose to him in welcome. Grani followed a step or two behind, snorting at his herd if he thought they were too close to his Rider. Kili smiled at them in greeting, laying a hand upon Warg’s collar to prevent him from charging the large grey stallion. He had asked Dorlad if it would be possible for the Weland to clip Warg’s stones but he had not realized the recovery time for such a procedure, so the bane of his existence was intact for that much longer.

The greetings were quiet ones as Kili and the Lord fenced stilted comments in the chilly morning. Grani snorted at Warg in challenge until his Rider placed a hand upon his neck, calming him slowly. The Lord must have felt sorry for Kili as he struggled to hold the wild pony back from giving the Herd Stallion an answer. The Dwarf looked forward to leaving this particular problem behind and get back to the normalcy of Warg trying to take a bite out of Isen instead of attacking a Horse of Rohan twice his size.

“What know you of great enemy beyond Gondor, Prince of Erebor?” He was gruff and his meaning just as taciturn.

Kili watched the Lord’s face as he pursed his lips and decided what to tell him. The Rohir didn’t mince words but was very direct and Kili respected him for that trait even if he didn’t always in others. He mined his thoughts, engineering them so that it painted a clear picture. The things he had seen on the road, whispers of the Elves in Rivendell?   The gloomy village on the other side of the mountains stuck out in his mind. Those people didn’t live their life, they mourned it. It would hurt Tauriel if such a misery touched these people she knew and called friend these last years.

“There was talk of a stirring in the east. A sleepless malice that drives the Orc and other fell beasts.” Kili told the Lord but was unsure of what else to mention. There were no grounds of which to worry the Rohirrium for it may be long years before such a malice would dare cross into the realm of the Horselords. “It will not rest, my Lord, but will consume all it can.”

The Lord nodded his understanding. The silence stretched as the animals hooves sunk in the powdery sand. “Where you go?” Aeldklif asked hesitantly as the wind picked up in the deep. “Wife worries, me too.”

Kili shrugged. “Undecided. Maybe Dol Amroth if the Fords are frozen. Tauriel thinks so much of you both, and your worry does you credit.”

The Dwarish mistrustful side said not to tell too much. Bain had found Dorlad with Kili later in the morning yesterday and regaled what he had heard from the Lady Arnorra, angering the Dwarrow completely. He would never allow his Ghivash to be used, to be exhibited like a prized necklace to adorn the Lady of the Keep. He was made out of flesh and blood and whatever else it is that Mahal puts into Dwarves. Each part of him was dedicated to Tauriel, so if a Daughter of Man thought to intercede, it would go badly for Alfgivia.

Dorlad had taken a stern demeanor, saying very little else. Out of the three of them, he had longer years with the Rohir. They knew that Dorlad had made her acquaintance years previously when he worked for her father. It had been Aeldklif’s Eored that had saved them from a slaughter at the hands of raiding Wild men and led to his marrying Alfgivia. So when the Dunedain said little of her, Kili found it troubling. He had still to tell Tauriel who had been on her own business at the time, while in truth he knew not what to say to her.

Making sure the animals were tended, Kili took leave of Aeldklif who had since turned away to speak with a Rider. He would not express his thoughts to the Lord, attempting to stay out of a married couples interests. Hurrying back to the curved ramp, he reviewed what he knew of these people. He would never have said that they two, Alfgivia and Aeldklif were a matched pair. Their temperament was so dissimilar. Arnorra and Lifa were kind and gentle when not in anger, giving him the impression that they took the better parts of their parents to make a whole personality that was entirely their own.

The soldiers leaving on patrol were taking their mounts to the stables, clogging the ramp in slow style. Tauriel would be leaving soon for the village to prepare and he wanted to see her off. No matter a few hours separated them, he loved her company and hated the parting. The Lady Alfgivia would not be attending tonight due to other obligations, staying at the Hornburg with the Lady Arnorra. The Lady Lifa was free to go but Kili almost wished she wouldn’t and kept her sour disposition at the Keep. Dorlad advised him to stay out of her sight as she was fighting with her mother now about Werrmund’s care.

Reaching the top of the causeway, Kili met Tauriel already mounted upon Flandif but someone was at her back astride Gilesgal. The young black mare stretched out her muzzle to Kili before Flandif could push her back. Laughing at them both, he handed some cubes to Flandif then to the black mare as Tauriel arched an eyebrow.

“You’re leaving already?” He had hoped for some time together with her before the ceremony started at evenfall.

Her sunny expression warmed him steadily, like a slow burning fire only contained by chance. Kili placed a hand upon her leg, letting it run the length of the toned appendage to squeeze her ankle. The sleek leather of her pants and boot were already warmed being so close to her body. Her exhale was loud in his ears and in full accord with the quivering inside himself. Looking back at her, the soft dreamy need echoed between them as she reached down to touch his face.

“Yes, I will be waiting for you in the Hamlet and praying for a quick day and a slow night.” A cough from the black mare interrupted anything further as Kili withdrew from his Elleth. “Bain has my things that I am taking with us.”

I love you... I want you... I need you. The words chanted in his head with the beat of his pulse, repeating over and over. Kili wanted to kiss her again, wanted to touch Tauriel and feel her in my arms. He loved to hear her gasping his name when he inside her. He want all that, and wanted it badly. She had defied laws and Kings and Dwarves and Elves to be with him. She would tear down any barriers that Alfgivia might attempt to build to confront whatever darkness lurked behind them. There would never be happiness for his Elleth that did not include him, this he knew down to his soul.

“The night cannot come fast enough.” Kili released her leg and stepped away with a smile as he looked at the carefully arranged braids at her face.

Tauriel laughed at giving Flandif her head, trotting down the Causeway. The rider on Gilesgal pushed her hood back to reveal a very unrepentant Lady Arnorra and a sly grin. The Dwarf backed away further with a shake of his head to allow her to leave, happy that Tauriel’s friend would be there with her today. There might be hell to pay with her mother but the Lady had made a choice both in friends and love. He could only hope that Arnorra was as blessed with Dernhelm as he had been and that her path was smoother than theirs.

The trip back to his rooms was unobserved, yet he grinned like an addled Stripling. Kili found Bain with their gear as Dorlad left to arrange supplies, still unsettled as he had been of late. They talked quietly, Kili explaining his run in with Aeldkliff and talk of the Deceiver. Bain looked grim as he sat on the bed, thinking. The Dwarrow knew that his friend was anxious to get away from here as he was. The tangled threads of the different situations felt like a noose, tightening down to take their actions. Werrmund, Alfgivia and who else? Plots within plots scurried under a thin veneer of civility like a good piece of fruit only to find the core was rotten.

Tauriel’s things were already wrapped in canvas, stacked upon his bed. She was taking her bows and two quivers that he could see readily which reminded Kili that he would need to replenish his own supply if the weapon’s master was willing to part with some arrows. They would not be his own make but he was sure they would be adequate for the trip. She had been a guardian before her post as Captain in Mirkwood so there would be no need for discussions on what was needed or not. Likely, she had arrived to Helm’s Deep with more weapons than clothes and would leave the same way.

Dividing their possessions for even distribution between the young Gilesgal and Daisy, they would still have to carry enough food and grain for at least a week for the trip. Dorlad had said at most four days but having extra would not go amiss. However, packing down the horses too heavy would be a problem if they were beset upon the road. Kili was confident they could fight off a goodly force but if the numbers were too much against them, they would be unable to flee.

Bain mentioned food and Kili agreed with a grumbling stomach. His Elleth was already to the Hamlet most likely, attending to herself for preparations. The thoughts of her in the bath brought memories of their own last interlude in the caverns. The pearlesque sheen upon the walls were nothing compared to her beautiful skin, pale as moonlight and just as elusive. Sighing deep as he followed Bain, Kili found he wished he had followed Tauriel instead.

Man and Dwarf went in search of Dorlad and how much more was needed and what they might be forgetting. The Dunedain was usually of good cheer, wrestling with the conversations in two languages and imparting bawdy jokes in both. Kili thought highly of him while Tauriel had been somewhat aloof, friendly but slow to trust. It was her Elvish nature to be warily distant of new people, though really it was inherent shyness that held her firm. She was as curious as any animal of the forest, sharing the same wild nature and loving spirit. Each part was as dear to him as the others for he could not love her in pieces, only hope that she would allow Dorlad the friendship he deserved.

Groaning as they entering the great hall to break their fast, the Riders left on their daily patrol. There was salt pork available with biscuits and cider. The brown butter was thin at the bottom but still enough for a taste to smooth the crumbles down his throat. Bain was his jovial self as Dorlad took a seat but said little. The gray cast to the Dunedain’s face gave him a haggard appearance that was worrying them both. No amount of frivolous conversation could break the older Man’s mood. No, he thought, as he drained his mug, the day can not pass fast enough.

**********

The trio arrived at the Hamlet as sun pierced the horizon, flaming the sky in farewell. The anticipation of the day had kept his nerves frayed and leaving excitement in its wake. Warg had picked up on his mood, fighting the bit in vain attempts to lengthen his stride. The villagers were milling outside their homes, with bonfires at the outer edges for the ceremony. Dismounting near the paddocks, Kili unburdened his mount as the others had ridden barebacked and released their horses with Flandif and Gilesgil.

He walked behind Dorlad who called to a man apart from the gathering. The Headman of the village or so Kili guessed, pointed to where they would stand beside a lighted cottage. This is it, he thought as Tauriel left the cottage. This moment was the culmination of countless daydreams and innumerable fantasies, his secret desire made manifest in the Elf as she closed the distance between them. The care she had taken with her appearance pleased him that he had done the same. His courtly leathers were fresh and made him stand taller in pride for his love.

The trio had use the caves and their warm springs to wash and scrub away the grit in tight places of his body. The soft feel of the water was unlike any he had known, making him wish they could stay longer and enjoy it again. The image of his Elleth before him was enough to make him forget those moments entirely. The dress she wore was ankle length, a simple green that emphasized the dark wine of her long unbound hair that brushed her thighs. She was a vision, the light of the Eldar glowing behind her happy smile. She was courage and the personification of every hope in his life, making him wish to be worthy of her and always see her joy.

The day had dragged as he thought it would. Never does time flee when wished then be unable to stop it when you wanted to hold one moment and preserve it for eternity. Dorlad and Bain would stand with him in his family’s stead though the Dunedain’s pallor didn’t change all day. Kili had asked his friend and didn’t push, letting go the query when the Man just shook his head. The Dwarf knew he had talked to others but what he found he would leave to himself for the moment. There would be time after.

Kili noticed with a start that Tauriel was barefoot, even in this cold night. She did not feel the cold as he would, nor had any of her race. It must be part of their ceremony, he thought with a smile. Dressed in his finery, with the Elven knife and _Orcrist_ at his sides, his countenance was the personification of a Dwarf of Erebor. Strength and humble pride framed him as he drank in the sight of her. Aeldklif and Arnorra walked behind with happy expressions, dressed in fine apparel as well. Weland and Dernhelm followed as well as Riders that he had not met. The Villagers closed in the sides so that they stood in the center of a ring of humanity.

Aeldklif stepped forward along with Tauriel. She had told him that as Lord of Helm’s Deep, he would stand as her guardian and make a speech to the congregation of their union. The large Man’s voice boomed outward as the crowd settled down. The fire in the pits crackled and hissed as his words took an affectionate edge, extending a hand to Tauriel. She gave her hand fondly, as he reached and took Kili’s with the other. The Dwarf didn’t understand but caught the paternal feel as he indicated to Arnorra behind him and looked back to Kili.

The Lord placed their hands together then stepped away with a smile to join Weland and Dorlad. Bain stepped to them holding a small velvet bag and opened the drawstring. The gold and silver were perfect, a symphony of her traditions to play out the music of their lives.

“I give you this ring as a symbol only. You hold each part of me. I am your Dwarrow and you are my One.” Kili told her as he slipped the delicate wrought gold with its silver leaf upon her finger. She started at it for a moment and smiled when Bain handed her the matching one for Kili.

Sliding the band on his finger, her voice rang with love and no little amount of tears. ““In my dreams, you have always been my love.” Kili wrapped her in his arms as she finished. “The hard memories and the soft, I have loved you. In Eru’s name, I will look to you and no other forever.”

Arnorra and Dorlad spoke the words to the neighbors beside them, many clapped with happiness as the union began. The Dunedain stepped forward, pulling a piece of yellow paper from an inside pocket.

“I have translated his words into the common tongue. This way Kili would be able to understand and you two are repeating the same thing.” Dorlad smiled at them, handing Kili the parchment. “With some differences for your races.”

Together, they recited their vow.

_I give you that which is mine to give, a place by my fire and a seat at my table. I pledge to you the first bite of my meat and the first drink from my cup. when we quarrel we shall do so in private and tell no strangers our grievances for I hold your honor as mine own. I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night and the eyes into which I smile in the morning. My axe and bow will serve you in all ways for I shall be a shield for your back, and give my life for you. You shall be the bearer of my heart and love until the world’s ending._

They stared at each other for the moment that grew bigger than both of them. With hands clasped tightly, Tauriel leaned down to kiss him. Kili rose up to meet her as they lips brushed. It was a gentle caress of a butterfly that opens its wings after emerging from the cocoon. Their chrysalis shed, Aeldklif and Weland began to roar in concert with a bellowing cheer of good fortune. The villagers joined them, toasting high with full tankards of good Rohir ale and much love for their future.

Bain with a big grin, brought a small stool forward for Tauriel, giving Kili two bags from his pocket. They had been practicing so that they each would make the correct plaits and give honor to their traditions.

Tauriel eyed the bags dubiously as she took a seat before him. “Is so much needed? I didn’t know that Dwarrowdams wore so many.”

“I want every male in this assembly to know that you belong to me. Only me.” Kili told her as he brushed out the locks until it formed a tributary of fire that flowed down her back.

“I care not if there are others here. All I see is you.” She reached back to grasp his leg. A touch any sort to remind herself that he was indeed here with her.

Absolute intimate connection with him had become vital to her in last days. The fear at waking that it was all a dream didn’t release her until the morning sun burned it away. It didn’t leave the predetermined ashes as one might think but a violent fury of want that sought possession of the Dwarf she claimed as her own. The heat of it singed her completely blazing her desire to a raging intensity.

Was it always thus? She wondered in the afterglow of banked emotion. Would she always need him this way? There were none of her kin to ask if this behavior was extreme or something that comes with the joining to another. Years ago, she remember the passion of their union but it didn’t resonate then as strongly as it did now. Silvans had a habit of isolating and removing themselves after a marriage rite. Passionate attachment was natural in their lives but was there a line from which it became obsessive?

His deft fingers quickly, accurately sectioned her tresses and constructed the braids, pulling her thoughts from dangerous waters of churning anixety. Dorlad walked among the throng at her peripheral, answering the stray question on Dwarvish custom that none had known existed. It was something that they might never see again in this life as Tauriel felt he was breaking some social taboo in braiding her hair before non Dwarves. Peace crept over her as she imagined them doing this often, his attending her hair as she might his. He was careful, never tugging or snatching a strand in a painful manner. Yes, she thought, I could get used to this.

A gasp went up from the assembled as Tauriel felt something anchored into her hair at the crown of her head, the weight of it foreign to her. Kili adjusted something, tugged a lock of hair at another place but then breathed a sigh of contentment at his handiwork. With eager nosy hands, she reached up to pat the metal netting that he had braided along her scalp.

“In the beginning, I simply took without giving. Now, I would give you everything.” He whispered against her neck.

“No, you gave me joy and love.” She disagreed, her fingers burrowing into his springy locks. “It was all I could ever want. We will not keep score of what we have given or received. We are one, it is all ours.”

He kissed her neck once, then an exposed shoulder, earning a shiver for his cheek. He was in her every breath and every thought, intertwined so deep inside that love’s not a strong enough word. “Forever isn’t long enough.” She murmured to him as he backed away.

Taking her turn, Tauriel rose from her seat to braid his hair. He had removed his braids as had she, coming to her unbound as was Dwarven custom to show that no other had a claim upon him. Kili’s hair was shorter than hers, allowing for her to be swift. She took the clasps and beads as she needed them, weaving the story of their lives together in his dark wisps. When she was done, Tauriel leaned forward to nose along his scalp his unique fragrance. Earth, metal, wind mixed with a little pipeweed but all in all, him.

Kili'd given her his vow: to take care of her, to keep her from hurt or pain, from wanting for anything. Taking her hand, he drew her forward into the throng as the music of drum and fife rent the air with loud horns blown at intervals. The dancing was kinetic as the Rohirric spun faster in reels that wove like threads in a colorful tapestry. They were the living heart of this land, accepting others in their rounds with merry laughter. They bore no hate and gave all they could to the night celebration. They didn’t care if it was their Lord who tossed the headman’s giggling wife into the air or an Elf kissed a Dwarf under their stars.

Arnorra stepped forward with the piece of drapped cloth, her dusky plum gown swishing in the breeze. The smile was a beautiful as she handed the wrappings to Tauriel who turned to Kili. “You carry my knife and your uncle’s sword as well as your brother’s axe. I have no gift for smithing of weapons but this was gifted to my father upon his marriage to my mother.”

Kili looked at her confused as he took the cloth and unwrapped the material. Stunned, he lifted a necklace with a single teardrop opal at the bottom. “It is the custom for the bride’s family to give a jewel or a weapon to the groom.” Tauriel told with him with a smile. “I have carried it with me always as a reminder of my loved ones. Now, I ask you to carry it as a symbol of my love for you.”

“I never saw this.” Kili told her as he marveled at the brilliance of the stone before securing the chain about his neck. “I will gladly wear it, with pride and love.” Kili kissed her then drawing her into his arms.  

The party took new life for her as the dancing and music pounded into the night. Drawing away, Tauriel noticed Dernhelm speaking with Aeldklif to the side of a crowd, his whole frame taught with tension. Arnorra had told her as they dressed for the ceremony that her Rider was of a mind to approach her father tonight. She had encouraged him to do so and Tauriel could see her not far from them with the same fear upon her lovely face. Arnorra was happiest with simple things, never needing as much as her mother when it came to living.

Earlier, the Headman of the Hamlet had given his home for the ladies to complete their toilette though they had begged for his wife to stay as well. Aeldklif’s daughter was right at home amid the humble dwelling, helping the wife to bake savory pies for their lunch. Tauriel could see her living with Dernhelm, bearing his children and wanting nothing more in life. Alfigivia might press for a lord to take her daughter’s hand, the Lord of the Keep would never barter away his child into unhappiness despite connection and money.

Time passed and Tauriel found Kili tugged her every slowly to the edges of the crowds. Once or twice a Rider would ask for a dance but always to Kili, expecting Tauriel to translate. She laughed at his subterfuge and his chagrin in having to start over their escape after the reel ended. Dorlad took pity in the end, blocking another dancer by pointing out a maid in the crowd who had not a partner.

They slipped inside their quarters, a simple croft of sturdy design. There were few pieces of furniture, borrowed things as the previous owners had been lost in the ague and their possessions burned for fear of the disease[KK1] [KK2] . Sleep was immaterial, Tauriel didn’t want it nor seek it. Tonight she would wile away the hours, letting him rest and soak up each line that ran his visage. She could release his braids and comb his hair with her fingers, kneading his scalp to relax him where her body had not. She had married the finest, the best under the stars to her thinking. Caring none for it, she will take the years fated and count herself blessed for them.

 

Quietly, they assisted the other in divesting themselves of raiments. Tauriel had borrowed the gown from Arnorra and felt obliged to see it returned in pristine condition. She laid the folded material aside as she took in his muscular bare body, the opal shining with ever color in the rainbow against his warm skin. His face was shadowed but light enough was there for her to see his features and long to map them once more with touch. The swift resurgence of her need made her almost pant with excitement. Seeking to back away from the rapacious vibration of her body, Tauriel distracted herself from his form with a question that had been on her mind.

“The soldiers spoke of another name you are called before you arrived and later after Werrmund. The King’s Justice? I don’t understand what it means. Do you hold some office at Erebor’s court?” The confusion was in evidence and she knew not what the words could mean to him.

“I hunted Erebor’s enemies, my ghosts and my demons. If you live in the dark long enough, you start to forget what light looks like.” He spoke with a soulful cadence, not of shame but misery like those found in the old songs of the Sundering.

She looked away, afraid of this last untold begun at thoughtless words. He was allowed his privacy, allowed the deep part of himself the years of her absence had corroded. Tauriel took a seat on the bed, her mind coursing with his meaning. She understood a little of what this meant to long for missing love. Every subject took precedence recently except the one that was never spoken, how much of himself he had lost due to her, what price he had paid. Tauriel knew of his killing of Dwarves in her name, worried at the repercussions Dain might have wrought for the death of his guard. There is revenge and there is justice with only a breath between the two. Now, the subject was uncovered, Tauriel wasn’t sure if she really wanted the answers. It wouldn’t change their past at all nor her feelings.

Kili began, his voice hoarse with memory. “You build your world around someone so quickly, and then what happens when she disappears? Where could I go? Go to pieces? Into the arms of another?.. But I wasn’t really there, my mind was someplace else where there is blue sky and an unrecognizable road. If could squint my eyes, thinking I see her, in the shadows, beyond the trees. I always imagined that I saw that gorgeous flaming hair, but it’s a bird or a plant. A specter haunted my days and nights, until there isn’t anything left but the…the.”

She took up the tale, finished his words as if she knew the pain by rote. “ ..It's in the quiet moments, the tears.” Tauriel took a shuddering breath and continued, laying herself bare as tears sprinkled her eyes. “the deepening loss until you can’t stop the pain and there isn’t a knife sharp enough to cut it from you. But you know he lives somewhere, out beyond your reach. Someone who swears he'll love you forever isn't finished with you until he's done.”

She heard his step, looking to him, she could see the etching of pain on his face. Kili leaned his head to hers as a beard rough cheek, scrapped her sensitive jaw. Silence was his language as course hands found her shoulders, and his heart had turned a perfect pale color of hard silver at lost memories. It was so hard nothing could shatter it, taking a relentless beating. Not even pressure from the Lonely Mountain could crack the hard exterior except the tears of the Elf he loved. Those tears destroyed but also mended.

Neither slept in the night yet put to rest the tales of lonely Elves and grim Dwarves. Now it was only Tauriel and Kili and the life before them to brave the dark and live in the light. Their love broke barriers both in their thinking once and that of others who regarded them. The firelight caught the sparkle of silver leaves and twinkling as he took her into his arms. The corona of her hair ribboned across the white sheets to undulate like mimicked flames. She trembled at his touch, then kissed away his desperation. Together as one, they formed a harmonious unity and it brought them higher in passion’s grace as cries of pleasure split the night.

 [KK1]

 [KK2]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a Bain/Dorlad section but the chaptr was so beastly long I took it out..It will be the first part of the next chptr with Fili and Dis following and trying to make up..but they are stubborn.. geezzee..
> 
> Ok.. Let me be clear. Kili considers himself married buttttt he was raised that there was a ceremony and an official meeting not just a simple coupling. It doesn’t feel quite there for him because he would have to wrap his head around the fact that he was married all those years while they were apart. It is rather the difference of say a church marriage and a common law marriage.   
> Golden Weeks would be the dwarf equivalent to a honeymoon. Many older cultures advise that the first month or moon after marriage is the sweetest and filled with honey, so I wanted to change it up a little since the Dwarves love metals.


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello darkness, my old friend,  
> I've come to talk with you again,  
> Because a vision softly creeping,  
> Left its seeds while I was sleeping,  
> And the vision that was planted in my brain  
> Still remains  
> Within the sound of silence.
> 
> ~ Simon & Garfunkel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is Dorlad/Alfgivia and Bain   
> Then there is Fili and Dis talking it out...

 

_After midnight in Rohan_

Bain mounted Isen for the return trip to the Hornburg as the hour slid pasted midnight. Dorlad had left before him though Bain knew not when. The married couple decided to take an empty house in the hamlet for the next few days which pleased Aeldklif immensely. There were still some ill feelings at Helm’s Deep regarding the pair over Werrmund who would be leaving for Aldburg once he was stable enough to sit a horse. Bain had no regrets for the man, not based on what he had seen and heard. Whatever his life would be, Kili and Tauriel would not look upon him again. There would be no worry on that horizon.

He allowed Isen to find his own stride, meandering towards the Deeping Combe at a steady lope. The horse statues shown blacker than gloom on the moonless night, more distinguishable than the crags.  The animal had long since understood his Rider’s seat and adjusted his stride to match the terrain. No rein or bit commanded Isen, not when Bain only needed the lightest touch upon his red stallion’s neck. They were good companions together and Isen’s opinion was trusted as much as Kili’s or Dorlad’s. Even if he had sniffed at the new black mare once or twice, the great chestnut had not been stirred to violence like Kili’s beastly pony had with Flandif. A blessing if any god could manage for it would be a long journey with quarreling animals.

The ale was good tonight with the venison cooked in fruits and mead. He had danced with several maids of the village, even taking a turn with the Headman’s wife. They were comely, each and everyone with flaxen hair and deep set eyes, but none of them made his heart race. Arnorra stood apart with her delicate face and shadowy coloring like a sleek raven among kestrels. Bain shrugged at the thought, his heart beat no faster for the daughter of the house, she was a different species only. It was perplexing that no females stirred him to such madness as evidenced in others at the idea of love.

The celebration made him happy for his friends and the life that they would have together. When Bain thought the icy rage that could freeze his friend's emotions, the endless fire that blazed within Tauriel would thaw him back to life. The Elf would never allow the darkness to have dominion over her Dwarf and he would vanquish any foe to stand in the light of her smile. She was held Kili’s heart but Tauriel was also the keeper of his sanity. Their life together might be fraught with peril and animosity on all sides yet their love was a fierce thing, bearing claws and teeth when it comes to protecting the one they claimed.

Bain slid from Isen’s back, landing on unsteady feet. The beer in Rohan could sneak up and drown you when your back was turned. Isen snickered as only a horse can as he nudged Bain over a step. Patting his withers, the young Prince bid the animal good night as he swayed a little going up the long causeway to the gates. The guards greeted him with a good natured laughed before giving his back a kindly shove and a few words in Rohir as they continued to laugh. Placing a hand on the wall beside him, the Prince of Dale rounded his step up the incline towards the hall. He knew that he would not meet the Aeldklif as he was still deep in his cups with Weland and the others. Arnorra would be staying in the Village as well to minimize the chance of encountering her mother.

The long hall was a dark cavity in the rock face, gyrating from a tenebrous gulf. Bain staggered into the gloomy void as few torches offered the barest circumference of light. The tables resembled bobbing rafts on the Lake side and just as tenuously stable. He shuffled his way around the silent obstacles with more grace than he had displayed with his partners tonight though he consumed more ale while he romped with them too.

He happened into a tableau of a most undesirable nature as he took the servant stairs. There in the corner, Dorlad was pressed against the wall with the Lady Alfgivia doing the pressing. Her pale hands looked ghostly against his somber garments, spidering themselves up the leather shoulders. Bain had not been seen as yet and was rather not in favor of making his presence known. The male and female paid no attention to their surroundings much to Bain’s dismay as their conversation surprised him.

“You married Aeldklif, that was your choice. He is a good Rider and a man I count as friend. His lady skulking about dark corners does him no justice!” Dorlad snarled at her, pushing her back. “You made your choice alone, you live with it.”

“I longed for you then as I beg you now. The years have not changed my wanting.” She huffed after him as he scraped down the stone wall from her.

“The years have changed me. You took him for husband, go find him if you need satisfaction.” The Dunedain didn’t spare her, nor should he.   Wives and husbands vowed to the other as he had just witnessed in the Hamlet, however, some didn’t honor the words in the same way.

Her gestures were wilder as Alfgivia’s frenzies took hold of her thinking. Long wisps of hair freed themselves to float about her fact with the force of her movements. “I made my choice because you were gravely wounded caused by a wild man’s sword. My father could not know I lay with you and that it bore fruit! He would have been shamed once we returned to Gondor and I heavy with a bastard in my belly!”

“What are you saying, woman!?” Dorlad drew further away as if her words might canker his flesh. “You delude yourself if you think your father knew not that you snuck into my blankets like a hot blooded slut each night, begging for me to fill you. I know nothing of a bastard!”

“Arnorra is your child, Dorlad! Look to her and see! She is not your mirror but there are enough similarities that I have asked her to remain in her rooms. I cannot have Aeldklif seeing the truth!” She cried as she tried to reach for him again.

Arnorra was Dorlad’s child? Bain fair reeled at the thought. His friend wrestled away from her, pacing the corridor in an attempt to find the balance of her language and understand their full impact. As a Dunedain, he would outlive his progeny if the child be from a woman not of his tribe. To live their lives and see their children die would be a terrible curse upon the Dunedain’s longevity. The Doom would still find them for the Blood of Numenor didn’t ensure immortality but their last years would be in grief for the loved ones they lost.

“What other truths will he see? Has he heard the rumors of you laying with King Fengal so that Aeldklif would have the command here?” Dorlad hissed the accusation but Bain felt his stomach turn at the idea.

Aeldklif had been good to the three travelers when others might have turned them away and more helpful than he had to be. The Lord of the Deeping Combe fed them, gave them shelter and board for their animals. He had treated them with respect and demanded that his men follow suit. That he was cuckolded by his wife for ambition was a wrenching thing, the Man of Rohan deserved so much more than the faithless wife the gods had dealt him.

“Aeldklif had no ambition! I did what was necessary.” The woman gritted her teeth at the man before her, angered that he couldn’t grasp her thinking.

Alfgivia with her fine clothes and lesser sensibilities didn’t understand honor like her husband, Bain decided as she continued to argue with Dorlad. It was all for naught at any road, the Dunedain would not hear her or her pitiful bounty of excuses. Bain’s muddled thinking cleared as his shock forced it away, this was why he had been so distant. Dorlad had uncovered Alfgivia’s faithlessness, and it soured his feelings of late.

“What else was necessary? What lengths would you have gone to keep the Elf here and away from her love?” The Dunedain tried to step around her only to be blocked again. His anger bleed from every gesture at her presumption.

“Her service has raised my standing!” Alfgivia cried, trying to touch Dorlad again only to be rebuffed. “A man of great family is coming to pay court to Arnorra! It could not have been accomplished without the Elf!”

Bain had heard enough, and was thoroughly sickened. Obviously, telling Dorlad and Kili the things Arnorra had said had solidified his opinions on the lady, yet there was more. So much more as to be treacherous. But now what would Dorlad do? Would he leave the keep and his new found child or stay and try to know her? Could have Alfgivia lied about the girl’s paternity in an attempt to have some hold upon his companion?

Trying to take the stairs quietly was problematic, whatever noise he made was drowned by their continued arguing. Dorlad’s snarling rejoinders to Alfgivia’s shameless pleading shifted his ale uncomfortably. He was well away from the garrison so there was less chance of any discovering the pair in their discussion. That they were arguing in Westron was incidental to the language impaired Rohir, their body language screamed familiarity of a degree.

Finding his bed, Bain fell face first in the coverlets. He was tired mentally and physically from the events of last days. He was less happy now than he should have been for his friend was married yet another was in despair.   Coming to Rohan had been both a blessing and a curse. If the entirety of their situation were weighed upon scales they might find it to be more of a blessing. On the return trip to Dale and Erebor, they need not take the roads that led to the Riddermark but maybe Dol Amroth?

The heavy footfalls of his friend’s return sounded against stone as the door opened to emit him. Bain did not move, giving his friend the option of a quieter night than what the Dunedain might have expected when he arrived at the Hornburg earlier. Bain took it to be his business and not pry though, it left unanswered questions.

“I know you, my friend. You are not asleep.” Dorlad told him as he took a seat on his bed. Bain could hear him pulling off his boots. “Since you left after me, I assume you heard all of Alfgivia in the corridor.”

There was no anger in his voice, only chiseled resignation. Bain carefully rolled to a side to see his friend sitting on the cot, staring at his hands with his boots to one side of him. His shoulders were slumped in a manner of defeat that the Prince had not seen in the Dunedain since their meeting.

“I heard Alfigivia say you fathered her daughter.” The rest was was conjecture, not worthy of mention. The Lady of the Keep had no bearing on Tauriel now. “Could it be true?”

Dorlad raised his head to look at Bain but his thoughts were far away. “Anything is possible, I was less cautious in my early years and the wound I took from the wild man cured it. I laid with her many nights on the road and was not mindful of my seed. I was not the first man she took but it doesn’t negate the possibility.”

“What will you do?” Bain asked quietly, still on the bed. “Arnorra doesn’t look of Aelfklif’s get, not like Lifa.”

“Arnorra is happy in her thinking that she is Aeldklif’s trueborn child, he is the father she has known not a rough ranger from the North. It would bring her shame here if it were known she was a bastard, shame my friend too. He loves her deeply.” Dorlad stood to walk to the basin at the table close the wall. He washed his face quickly, rubbing his hand on a towel. “Aeldklif has sent to the King to allow Dernhelm to take his place here at Helm’s Deep and Lord of the Deeping Combe upon his marriage to Arnorra. He knew the Rider would ask for her hand, any Man with a brain could see Dernhelm’s love for her.”

“The Lady Alfgivia would have her marry in Gondor.” Bain reminded him even if he didn’t agree. He liked the idea of marrying for love like his parents and his sister.

“Yes, but she is not Lord here, and everyone accepts Aeldklif as her father despite the knowledge that Alfgivia lays with others.” Dorlad chuckle humorously. “Several Riders remarked that she gives some visitors _special attention_ _[KK1] _ , having met her in the corridors in a very soiled condition.”

Bain felt his lip curl at the thought, “And Aeldklif knows nothing?”

“It has only happened once or twice but that is enough to ruin her amongst the Eoreds.” Dorlad told him as he undressed. “If a Lady lies once, she will lie twice, they say.” Tossing off his tunic, he started with the belt at his pants. “Her mother died recently in the ague that swept through here. Before she fell ill, her mother would drink too much and tell stories to any who would listen. Some of Alfgivia playing the mare for the King.”

The truth is like salt. Men want to taste a little, but too much makes everyone sick. It was obvious that the Dunedain had had too much truth for one day and was attempting to digest it all. His dyspeptic mien was understandable for the ranger counted Aeldklif a friend and hated that he was treated thus by a faithless wife. Bain let the subject go for he could see it rode his friend harshly. Arnorra was a sweet girl, maybe in the future telling her would be a wise thing.

“What a tangle.” Bain toed off his boots as he tugged off his tunic and vest all at once. “The Lady Alfgivia can’t stop Tauriel from leaving. Kili will take a knife to her throat.”

“No, she won’t. That is what started the conversation. She offered herself to warm my bed if we would stay a few more weeks until her cousins arrive. She doesn’t want to look the fool to them.” The Dunedain laid upon the bed, missing Bain’s horrified expression and startled croak. “I won’t do that to any I call friend. Kili and Tauriel need their lives without interference. Its best we leave as soon as we are able.”

Unfinished business always comes back to haunt the source in the end, and for all that, somethings should be left to lie where they fall.

*************

_Late night in Erebor_

He knew where she was if not at the balcony, knew it was passed the point they needed to discuss this issue that lay before them. The son who loved his mother, who cherished her approval in all things had shriveled in the silence that yawned between them. The King, however, understood the need for harmony in his Kingdom yet felt that the tactics involved were slightly extreme. The father who loved his sons was just angry and resentful that she would push his children with no thought of the consequence to their happiness. So many facets of his life and so many of them unable to find a common ground.

Of late he had spent time in the forges when matters of state allowed it. A hammer and anvil with a good set of bellows were all he needed. The ideas of leaving the Mountain were swept away like so much dust and grime. He possessed the ability to rise above the challenges they faced to defeat them, but the endless fight was for naught if he could not leave anything for his boys. Nevermind taking the opportunity away for them to find the One who completes them.

Taking the last steps down into the back of the Treasure halls, Fili saw his mother, Dis walking amongst the black crypts of his ancestors. Smaug had contented himself to bath in the gold at the fore of the large cavern, rolling in the glittering heaps. There had been no thought in his tiny brain of the generations of Dwarves at that the back of the room, ceaselessly buried in auric splendor. The mintaged cover saved their tombs, leaving their rest undisturbed. Most of the repayment that had gone to the Iron Hills and Dale’s rebuilding had come from that section, the reasoning was twofold. The monuments would be uncovered as well as the money paid.

Fili paused at the sight of her, walking in the dim light with only a lantern and a brazier or two. Her hair and beard were free of braids, even her clothes were loose with a casual bent. His mother wasn’t old by the standards of their race, marrying young and bearing her children young. That he and his brother had been so close in age had been the scandal of Thorin’s halls, Dwarrowdams spaced out their bairns and raised them individually. He and Kili had been only five years separated in age, not something enviable as he could well attest with his own children.

The bones of Frerin and Thror had been brought in iron bound chests from Ered Luin when Dis had arrived at the Mountain. She would see her family interred properly in their ancient hall, expecting her sons to cleave to them as well. What a surprise it had been for her to find a son bedridden and another injured. Healing her sons and helping the Dwarrows find themselves had taken her energy in the beginning, it had been months before she realized that Thorin was not a subject of which any had a comment. The Dwarrows who _had_ told her of things, she called him liars.

“We never talk about him.” Dis said as she ran a gloved hand over the basalt tomb that housed Frerin. The sadness of the situation weighed upon him like stones. “He gave so much of himself for this Kingdom. You knew him not but I see him often in Kili that it makes my heart ache.”

“Frerin must have possessed all of the humor in the family then.” Fili let the remark be casual with no emphasis on any. It was the beginning, best not to open it would a punch. “Kili was the joker of Thorin’s halls. He never understood levity.”

“No, that was Thorin.” Dis smiled as she walked to his tomb with its oak leaf and acorn carvings. “But the eldest had such a teasing side. Do you remember when you and Kili demanded to come to Erebor with him? He was equally proud and scared!”

Fili let the comment conversation tangent drop as he had so many times when his mother thrust her brother into a discussion. Thorin gave so much and wreaked so many, Fili thought but swallowed the remark. He had come to talk to his Amad not pulverize things further, her trip down memory’s lane notwithstanding. Dis had never been satisfied with the explanations of Kili’s wounds. Once she had understood that something had happened on the quest, her prying had been relentless. The King believed that her insistence on the details was what had gotten Kili motivated to getting better just to get away.

Remembering something he had said to Sigrid, Fili spoke quietly. “Let the dead past bury its dead, Amad. He isn’t coming back and speaking of the past to bring forward its wounds won’t change them.”

Fili looked at the artistry of the columns that divided the burial section from the treasure, seeing yet not. It was not an uncommon belief that the mausoleum was here so that the dead Kings were never far from their gold. They were even buried with their feet towards the long hall so that when the Maker awoke them, the first thing they would see was the treasure laid out before them. The carved relief was familiar to what Thorin had used in his own halls in Ered Luin, great squared blocks with high mounted metal brackets for torches. He let his gaze slip passed his mother to the large sarcophagi spaced in even rows in the gray room. The smoothed walls bore no insignia, no family sigil, nothing to break the sense of anticipation that was trapped in the bones of those who sleep.

“Your brother never healed of his wounds. Maybe, if we had spoken of it, your brother would be here now.” Dis didn’t look at him but Fili felt the censure of her words.

Whatever reasons Dis told herself for Kili’s leaving or what she wished at the end of his brother’s quest, Fili hoped she knew to let it lay. She had not seen the love between them, probably wouldn’t understand that it could grow between a Dwarrow and an Elleth. She had agreed to send him off into the world for his Elf but the separation was wearing on her nerves at his continued absence. What might have looked to be solid reason months ago would have evolved into something else under the constant battery of anxiety for her youngest safety.

Dis was more tolerant of Elves than Thorin had ever been, understanding the Dwarves need for diplomacy where his uncle had shut them out. The Lord of Rivendell and the Lady of Light, she had carefully cultivated a relationship that was friendly but not close. Having never met the Lady Galadriel or Lord Celeborn, Fili could not say one way or the other if having them as allies was beneficial. Thranduil she could stand not at all. Like Thorin, she blamed still the Elvenking’s failure to assist Erebor against the Dragon.

“You understood Kili went to find his One. I know this because we discussed it months ago the night before he left. “

“Yes, but were you ever sure of this Elf? Kili had not many who looked upon him with favor in the Blue Mountains, even Dwarrows gave him less of a glance. Maybe the Elf was kind and your brother didn’t know any better and latched upon her kindness like a dying flower might rain.” Dis walked to him holding the lantern a loft, his glow highlighting her eyes and her conviction. “Kili might find her and see that it wasn’t love after all.”

“You were not here, Amad. You didn’t see them together. In trying to explain away something that you didn’t see with your own eyes is like a blind Man describing a diamond in the sunlight.” Fili placed away from her in frustration. “You humor the description but in the end you think them a fool.”

Dis reared back as if he had struck her. “There is no reason to be ill tempered.”

“True, but there is no reason for you to have opinions on something you know nothing about.” In for a diamond, in for a hoard, he thought as the metal of her personality crept into her gaze.

Her lips pressed into a firm line as she followed him. Fili paused at the tomb of Thrain I son of Nain, the founder of Erebor. He stared at his ancestor’s crypt, trying to get his feelings under control. The dynamic of their relationship had changed since their argument. She understood he wasn’t a callow Stripling and he knew she could make mistakes. Fili loved his mother but her stubborn natured could try the Maker in his forge.

She took a calming breath and rolled her shoulders. “Are we still talking about your brother?”

“Why did you marry my father?” Fili knew not where the question came, yet it spilled from his lips like water from a pitcher.

“What?” Dis’ confusion at the question was palpable. She couldn’t see the track of this thought while it finally occurred to Fili.

“Why a Stiffbeard?” Fili pressed as he took step to her. “Vali Axehand was possessed by wanderlust to leave the cold and his people to travel so far to the end of Arda, to Eriandor and take you for wife. You had to know he couldn’t settle into that life of a Dwarrow of Ered Luin. So when the Easterlings massed on Dain’s door, he saw a chance for battle again.”

“Fili, your father was a complicated soul, like many of Thurin’s Folk. The One of my life.” She laid the lantern on a stone pedestal. “He loved you, would have loved to see the Dwarf you have become. He didn’t leave for wanderlust! Dain was our ally and the Easterlings attacked a Stiffbeard caravan to the Iron Hills. His honor couldn’t allow him to stand aside, not for family nor love.”

He hated himself for pushing this but she had to see. His mother, Fili himself, his brother Kili had all married for love. “So you took the years you had and rejoiced in the sons your One gifted you. We are facing a war because two people love each other and a third will not accept it. This is the exact situation that could be facing Fian in his lifetime.”

Dis walked to the stone wall, taking a seat on a newly carved stone bench. “Neither of us will be alive when Fian mounts the Throne of Erebor. Why is it wrong to ensure his longevity?” Dis shook her head at him in dismay. “Dwarrowdams marry whom they will, always with feeling. Bringing him up with Skuld would not be such a bad thing. He may find he loves her in the end.”

Fili groaned then pointed to Thrain’s tomb that he had just left. “Thrain Son of Nain is a perfect example. He married an Ironfist but found his love in a ‘dam from Khazad Dum. Nori, Dori and Ori are family because of his love for his consort.” Dis rolled her eyes at him but said nothing so he continued. “Would you want the same for my sons? Let them find love where they will but have a Dwarf Queen? There are no records nor survivors to tell the tale of Thrain’s situation, although I doubt it made for a happy marriage to the Ironfist!”

What little was known of that time had been eaten by a dragon. Many found it to be awkward that a Thane would take a wife and she bare his children only to find that he loved another. His mother had said Dwarrowdams marry with feeling but what if Thrain’s wife had married for ambition as Herja might have, instead of love. How might a Dwarrowdam live with the day to day evidence of her husband’s perfidy and not strike at his consort for it?

“Thrain’s wife bore a child for Erebor or else you wouldn’t be standing here. I count Ria’s children in our line, no different than Fundin or Gror’s descendants.” Dis plowed ahead stubbornly, trying to make her case for the argument.

Fili advised with the same conviction. “Your opinion matters in the Mountain as it did in Ered Luin, but not all considered Nori, Dori and Ori as trueborn despite Thrain acknowledging his consort’s son as his own flesh. I won’t ask a child of mine to bastardize his children.”

Olrun had said that Skuld would not be forced into marriage and Fili believed her. But if the right words would spoken at the right time to say all the right things, she might claim his son to save him in her mind. They were all in undiscovered waters with the matter of his sons half blood status being thrown about at every turn.

“I wouldn’t allow your sons to do that either, my treasure. But ask yourself, could you deny your sons the Throne if it were proved that Durin’s Folk wouldn’t follow them? Would you be able to pick a son of Stonehelm or Gimli or Dwalin to sit the Mountain court if your sons found love in Dale and not at Erebor?” The pleading was there in her eyes the same feeling he had in reverse. Dis loved her grandsons as much as he, protection was what drove this even if he didin’t agree with her means. “Maker help us but if they found love in other races? Easterlings, or Hobbits? The Gondorians killed each other for their throne and they have none of the greed that chases our race. It has only been in your reign that there have been better relations between Dwarves and Men. Another generation might see even closer ties.” Dis came to him, taking his hands in hers. “I just don’t want to see your sons have to fight their own family. It never hurts for the boys to have options in their love life.”

Her points, every one of them were valid. Fili knew he could never force his sons take a wife against their hearts. But what of thirty years from now? What would the attitude of the mountain be then? The young Dwarrows and Striplings would have grown into their beards, Dwalin could have children where Stonehelm or Gimli might have a wife or more siblings. Fili knew in his heart he wouldn’t take them from the line of succession unless they were unworthy of the Throne. However his feelings, could the Dwarrows of the Mountain really rise up against his sons, wanting another of Durin’s folk to sit the Throne? Was there a precedent for such in their history? The questions swirled like a maelstrom in his mind, shaking his firm belief in his fellow Dwarf.

Fili raised her hands and kissed the backs of them. “I love you, Amad. but we will never really agree on this.”

Dis grinned widely until the ripe flesh of her inner cheek showed at the corners. “No, my son. We won’t. No matter our disagreement, none will change my love for you.” Reaching out, she grabbed his family braid and gave it a sharp tug. “It won’t be the last either, which brings me to the next topic of discussion.”

Fili stepped back and growled low as a wildcat. “No more, Amad, I beg you. A continued argument will do us no service and I am weary of too much talk.”

“Nevertheless, this needs to be said.” Dis moved closer to him and took his face in her hands. “I have agreed to go with Khazad Dum with Balin once his colony is established.”

Fili took a step back as if slapped speechless. The smiling face before him swam as realized all capacity for air was gone. “What!”

Dis let go of him to inspect a row of tombs and rub a hand over one or two that she remembered. Along a far wall, a very high and ornate sepulcher took a goodly section of space. Not mined basalt brought from the Iron Hills as some of the others, this was bleach stone blocks joined in perfect symmetry. At the base, aquamarines, sapphires with opals and emeralds swirled in waves patterns reminiscent of water in the sunshine. Skógûl’s crypt, Thror’s wife.

Dis traced the name on the side, her gaze even further away. “My grandmother nearly destroyed our culture and she was immortalized. I could not allow Herja to do the same. Sigrid is a good queen, strong and true. She has to be able to be Queen without the old guard,” Dis sent him a sheepish smile. “getting in the way. It won’t be soon, Balin assures me. So there is still time for me to mettle.”

“With everything that happened with Herja, there is too much upheaval. The mountain needs the calming influence of regularity and a showing to our allies that one Dwarrowdam didn’t bring down the Mountain.” Fili stood still as Dis brushed away a cobweb that obscured her grandmother’s family sigil, not looking at him even a little. “Are you listening to me!? I need you here!”

“Herja almost did bring down the Mountain. Things were much worse than you realized, though Sigrid did. She does you credit and she is a blessing, cherish her.” Looking at her son, the steely cobalt eyes glared at him, the originator of his own. “You are my King, head of Durin’s folk. So, unless you catch me up in my rooms, I shall come and go as I will.” Her black hair was fair crackling with anger now. “I have no plans to leave for a while. Plans will need to be made to confront the Ironfoot if he arrives. I assume you will call upon the Stiffbeards or the Ironfists to mediate with the Ironfoot?”

“The Stiffbeards. Kibil’s cousin, Baruzimabûl, is head of the Thurin’s folk. They can travel at speed in the cold to be waiting for Dain if he arrives.” Fili tried again to reach his mother, sway her decision. “I need you, Amad. We all need you.”

“Baruzimabûl grew up with your father. We talked when he came for your coronation. The Stiffbeards have immense pride, they will see Dain as an insult.” She pondered a while her thoughts as if he had not spoken of need of her staying.

The silence stretched before Dis exhaled a long sigh and made for the stairs. Fili watched her go as a deep hole opened up in his chest. It was the same feeling he had when he left the Blue Mountains on Thorin’s Quest, wondering why it could be so different than any of the guardian missions he had taken in his life. But it had been different and so was this.

Dis paused on the first step to look at her son. “The time when you needed me to stand behind you, to shore you up, has passed. You are your own Dwarf, now, grown into your beard. I saw it when I came back to the Mountain, I saw it in Kili too despite his wounds. Thorin’s Quest changed you both and neither could tell me why.” She took a deep breath and wrapped her arms about herself. “Sigrid’s life in Laketown gave her a hard foundation but she got out of it before it ruined her. She will do what needs to be done for you and your sons and always with love. I couldn’t ask for a better wife for you and a Queen for the Mountain. If I stay, she might not become all that she could be.”

Fili watched her go with the hole in his middle getting larger. The decisions he had made had pushed his mother to make her own. While he could see her heart wasn’t in it, the thoughts behind it were sound. With the Dwarrowdams coming from the Iron Hills, Sigrid had more support than just the King’s mother. An established court like Dis advised would only be to his love’s benefit. But with the wealth of generational experience walking out the Great Gates, the Kingdom would be lesser for it.

Fili followed his mother up the stairs, wondering not for the first time if the choices he made were better than the entombed Dwarves behind him, awaiting their resurrection.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fili is a bit raw still about Dis but they are getting back on track. Several things were brought up and left because not every argument resolves every feeling at least not in my house lol.  
> Baruzimabûl – means Blackflame  
> I have given Nori, Ori and Dori’s mom a name, Ria. There isn’t a Valkyrie name close to it but I liked that their mother was the descendant and not the father. Gives them a closer connection to Kili/Fili who are matrilineal Durin’s instead of patrilineal Thurin’s.  
> Frerin’s body was burned after the battle at Azanulbizar. I am going with the supposition that Thorin would not want their dead left to be stomped upon by Orcs and he brought the bones back to the Blue Mountains rather like the Israelites taking Joseph’s body with them when they followed Moses.  
> **I wrote Dorlad’s choice as a means to fit the storyline but that doesn’t mean I am in agreement with it. That sounds schitzy even to me and I write this lol.. anyway.. Dorlad understands that Arnorra is loved by Aeldklif and she thinks of him as her father, were Dorlad may or may not be a sperm donor in that situation.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning mentions of rape in this chapter, not graphic nor descriptive.
> 
> Ereborentric  
> Sigrid, and the girls with Burin and Uri

She felt like a duck waddling to shore. Her spreading girth had long since expanded beyond the seams of her clothing, pressing her once again into her bearing dresses as she called them. Sigrid had two truck of dresses with higher waistlines to accommodate her pregnancies, she just didn’t remember dragging them out so soon.

The fluid encapsulating her ankles was not so bad today but it mattered little as there were duties she and her ladies had to complete. Like any performer in motley, they each painted a smile upon their face to walk out to the awaiting audience. With the backlash of so many ill feelings due to Herja’s ‘sudden dismissal’, the population of the Mountain had been unsettled. Sigrid with Willa, Olrun, Skuld and Vigdis and Eir if they were able, made rounds of the promenades, shallow depth mining and taverns. They would stop, give a kind word or praise to a Dwarrow, share a joke or two. Sigrid and the ladies all carried baskets of fresh mini loaves of bread to hand out to the workers. It wasn’t much, a gesture so that the Dwarrows knew that the Queen cared for them.

Willa and Fili both had been against the continued milling as they put it but for different reasons. Willa was concerned about the swelling ankles where Fili was worried about exposure. Disillusionment could breed anger and many of the Dwarves had been taken in by Herja’s convictions. That she had been expelled and her morals called to question might make her believers feel foolish for listening. Since the Queen was the unfortunate object of the exile’s vitriol, she might be a convenient target still.

Sigrid felt they were wrong as she kissed her husband good morning before she left with a grousing Willa in tow. Uri and Burin had insisted they accompany her as well as the Thane’s fears were contagious. Enjoying their company immensely, she wouldn’t say nay to them as of late the darling Dwarrows had become quite fussy over her condition. It wasn’t an uncommon reaction, Sigrid had been advised as many males took the sign of a breeding female as good luck but also a treasure to be protected.

Today, she wore a bright blue dress, slashed in the front to reveal a pale blue underskirt as well as her pregnancy. The jewelry was minimum with only a twisted mithril diadem crusted with sapphire and aquamarine chips and a matching broach at her bosom. Olrun had affixed her braids, advising the significance that she bore a royal heir. It was wrong to plead her belly for protection but Sigrid knew Dwarves were hostile when it came to taking care of children as well as bearing mothers. No Dwarf would lay a hand on a pregnant woman no matter the race, it was their ultimate taboo.

The ladies in her wake wore varying shades of gray, even the Lady Thrud who Sigrid had asked to attend as a gesture of peace. The second reason she asked Thrud was because they needed an Erebor ‘dam in the Iron Hills mix since the Lady Eir was working with Balin today. Having a good group of Dwarrowdams ensured that the opinion was unity instead of invasion with so many new faces. But that Sigrid kept to herself. She trailed at the end behind the Lady Olrun who had taken to the miner’s daughter and her quiet fortitude.

The Princess Dis was sitting in council today with the Guilds as Fili tried to get her more engaged into the day to day of Erebor. Their coming together was a positive thing but the Daughter of Thrain would not be swayed upon her decision to accompany Balin. She had come to dinner last evening with the Chancellor, and while neither had brought up Moria, it was only a matter of time. Fili had opened many topics of discussion that might lead to the subject but both declined the bait, taking another track again and again. Sigrid had chuckled to herself by the end of the meal, she would never have battled such a discussion.

Dis had mentioned to Sigrid at some point in the night that invitations had been resent to the dowagers and aged ‘dams to come and visit the Water Chamber, now that Herja’s disruption was no longer a factor but so far, none had accepted. Their attitude was one of wait and watch to see where the weather would blow that a Dwarrowdam even a meddlesome one was out of the picture. When approached in the Mountain, they were lively and polite and Sigrid couldn’t fault their hesitancy. Many had escaped Erebor years ago and preferred to live their aged years in peace and not conflict with a neighbor. As Athane, she wanted a blended influence with as many voices as possible and just as many ideas from every corner. These ladies had seen the most and could share their wisdom.  

Willa snickered loudly at a comment that Olrun made about Uri and his wistful expressions of late. Seeing her Laketown friend, Silinde had been quite a treat and seeing her on Uri’s arm was a wonder. Her guardian had requested to accompany her back to Dale the morning after the party. The healer had told her of Uri’s quiet love for the girl some time back, helping her hatch a plan for the two to spend some time together. That Willa and Oin had time together was quite…accidental. Sigrid giggled at the reminder of Burin’s frustration that day.

“Why does the Queen grin so?” Olrun asked as she stepped closer to Sigrid. They walked in the general direction of the Gallery of Kings where many congregated.

“I saw an old friend of mine, Silinde at the Party the other night. She has a deft hand for embroidery and I thought to ask her to the Mountain for a while.” Sigrid let the grin ease somewhat but it snapped back into place a Willa’s snort.

They had shared confidences years ago, Silinde and Sigrid. They had giggled together, minding tears and washing clothes while Silinde’s mother worked at the Master’s house as a servant. Living a quay over from the Bard’s, Silinde’s father and older brother had worked at the main gate with inspections and declarations. Sigrid had thought Tevid handsome once until a blonde Dwarf popped out of her toilet and took up residence in her heart.  

“Do not make it too easy for young Uri, Athanu Men. All young lovers need obstacles.” Willa threw a look over her shoulder at the furiously blushing Uri and Burin who just rolled his eyes.

Sigrid thought often about finding a match for Burin, at least a companion of sorts if he chose not to find a One of his own. The furious pace he had set for himself between her wellbeing and the protection of Oin and Willa’s courting had become somewhat of a private joke in the Water Chamber. None of the ladies found him ill formed, only that he was wearing himself thin by the tasks that he had given himself.

The head of the Queen’s guards increased his pace until he walked between Willa and the Queen before her. “You and Uz Oini have thwarted _my_ obstacles at every turn, Mistress!” Burin told her with a drool look. “I think you should be the last individual to talk about impediments.”

“I am not young, master Dwarf. With age comes experience.” She told him no small humor, taking it all in stride.

“A shame age doesn’t always bring wisdom.” Burin grumbled stepping level with the Queen as they walked by a small group of Dwarves.

Sigrid and Olrun burst out laughing at his cheek, even the Lady Thrud hid a smile of her own when the Queen looked around at them. Willa snickered at him herself, completely unaffected by his wit. Burin had their respectability at heart, wanting no scandal the likes of which had robbed the Lady Herja of her place. The healer understood his worry but still chose to find private time with her lover. Sigrid had reminded her friend that the attitude at the Mountain would change and she should be more circumspect.  

Ahead of them, Sigrid noticed the Ladies Goll and a new arrival from the Ironfists, the Lady Svipul discussing something quite heatedly with a young Dwarf that she didn’t recognize. His clothes bore the cut of a Blacklock as did his boots but the insignia of his helm and belt were of Erebor. She wanted to kiss her mother in law for her insistence on Sigrid learning the different tribes and their markings at a glance. The Queen looked to Burin at her elbow as he snorted in their direction. Deciding that he must know him after all, the pregnant woman felt it safe to approach.

“Greetings this day, Lady Goll, Lady Svipul.” She wouldn’t stand on ceremony, wanting to acknowledge and dispel the crowd of nosy Dwarrows that were listing in on their discussion.

The Ironfist ‘dam smiled and gave a bow to Sigrid while the Lady Goll looked to be in the middle of a quandary. The Queen could see that she was trying to decide to snub her as Herja might have or bow as was proper. Keeping her smile in place, Sigrid reached up to lightly tug at one of braids that lay against her shoulder. Lady Goll’s eyes followed the movement, widening as her hands sought her own braids before she bobbed curtsy and a mumbled ‘Athanu Men’.

“You are causing a disturbance in our fair halls. What is the issue here?” Sigrid kept her tone level as well as low.

“I have engaged this Dwarrow to service and he refuses to cooperate.” The Lady Goll gestured to the young Dwarf wildly until Burin took a step between the Lady and Queen. His movement wasn’t missed by the Lady Svipal.

“My Queen, I am Borin son of Druin. I am a guardian of the Great Gates watch, not a servant to a Dwarrowdam!” His manner was respectful while he was quite angry at Goll much to her chagrin. “It is my free day and I planned to travel to Dale. Yet, I was accosted by this Lady and her unreasonable demands.”

Sigrid found this situation entirely fascinating as it was clear that Goll thought whatever she wish took precedence over this Dwarrow’s own. “I am very pleased to meet a guard of the Great Gates, Borin son of Druin. Your skill must be impressive indeed for you do not appear too far past your maturity. You do great honor to your ancestors, master Dwarf.”

The Dwarrow’s eyes widened in shock at her kind words as a deep blush of pleasure spread over his cheeks exposed above his beard. The bulbous nose took on the likeness of a small eggplant as the flush changed his skin color to a puce. It was no hardship to flatter him for his was young, if Sigrid had to assign an age. She had learned long ago it was easier to attract flies with sugar than salt.

Unable to stand the exchange, Goll burst out in frustration. “I am a Dwarrowdam of the Mountain, Dwarrow. I have needs!”

“And so does he, my Lady and they do not include you. Why do you not seek elsewhere to have your _needs_ assuaged?” The tone Sigrid gave the ‘dam was sweet but the steel underneath was not to be missed. “Remember your departed friend is not so far that you might spend the Winter with her.”

Her father, Bard had sent word that the Riverfolk had taken boats down the Anduin to reach their home to the south. Herja had been viciously angry from all reports that he had received, going so far as to say that her new husband raped her the first night in Dale. The Queen had felt a moment of regret that something of that nature happened as a result of her decisions, but far worse might have happened to Sigrid’s family had she left it alone. Whether Goll was in communication with Herja remained unknown but considering the look on the Dwarrowdam’s face, she had no wish for the other ‘dam’s company.

“No, Athanu Men.” Goll spoke with a stiff grimace and a bowed head though her eyes flickered to Olrun’s braids.

Yes, look at upon your failure and remember, Sigrid thought. She grinned at the Dwarrowdam before turning to the Dwarf. “Please take this and enjoy your day, Borin son of Druin.” She took a small loaf of bread from the basket and handed it to the Dwarrow who babbled his thanks. “No, no, we thank you, master Dwarf, for all you do protect Erebor.”

The Queen continued by the grinning Dwarf and the frowning Dwarrowdam. The ones who witnessed the exchanged bowed to Sigrid as she passed by, one or two taking a knee. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Olrun grasp her courting braids to rub the clasp with Dwalin’s signature of two axes crossed before she nodded to the Dwarf and snub the Dwarrowdams. Svipal’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter, never taking offense.

“Nicely done, my Queen.” Olrun handed a loaf to a Stripling who bobbled a snaggle tooth smile. “Might I suggest making Goll an ambassador to the Riverfolk? To strengthen our connection to our new Hobbit allies?”

“If you have no obstacles, you will not appreciate the prize you have claimed.” Burin snipped as he walked forward to open the door to Nori’s tavern for refreshments. “Dwalin might lose his appeal.”

Willa burst out laughing at the strangled expression Olrun sent him, sputtering with indignation. Her charcoal dress with its steel chainmail collar and girdle cast her in a warrior’s light. Sigrid knew them to be old pieces that Oin had worn during the battle, relics he had saved for who knew what reason. That Willa had salvaged them gave her a thrifty bent which any miser could appreciate.

“One day, Burin, guardian of our Queen, your One will get your attention and give us all much enjoyment!” Olrun told Burin with a smirk. “You will not know your bottom from your head.”

“If that day ever comes, my lady, I will be the most happiest of Dwarves.” Burin gave her flourishing bow, sweeping his helm from his head. His cavalier style lightened the mood for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very very sorry that it isn't much.. I haven't really slept in the last week and I find I write with coherency when I have had more than 4 hours of medicated rest. 
> 
> Working Tauriel and Kili leaving Rohan now... it is getting very long, so this was done to leave it for a full chapter. 
> 
> It was not unusual for a women who were in prison in the middle ages to ‘plead their belly’ as it were, saying they were pregnant to avoid the noose or axe. Dwarves had so few children that every child no matter the race was a precious thing. It was one of the reasons that Oin became so offended at his meeting with Willa the first time in the mountain when she mentioned Sigrid taking herbs to prevent conception after she gave birth. Contraception would never have been encouraged, even if the Dwarrowdam was at risk. It doesn’t follow my personal beliefs at all (closet feminist) but I am writing a story not a declaration of my ideals.


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There must be lights burning brighter somewhere  
> Got to be birds flying higher in a sky more blue  
> If I can dream of a better land  
> Where all my brothers walk hand in hand  
> Tell me why, oh why, oh why can't my dream come true  
> oh why  
> There must be peace and understanding sometime  
> Strong winds of promise that will blow away the doubt and fear  
> If I can dream of a warmer sun  
> Where hope keeps shining on everyone  
> Tell me why, oh why, oh why won't that sun appear
> 
> ~Elvis Presley - If I could dream ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leaving Rohan, Kili, Tauriel, Bain and Dorlad.. 
> 
> Byeeee.... Alfgivia you skank whore !!! 
> 
> sorry had to be done.

_Morning in Rohan_

The sun had barely slipped from the edge of the horizon as Kili and Tauriel neared the Deeping Combe. The last two days of their golden time had been a dream and now they were waking back into the world they knew. He missed the croft already, the wood walls were a barrier to the world outside. The condensed insolation sliced everything, cutting them off from all they knew. There were no cares, no problems, just they two within four walls. They talked, laughed, made love while their food cooked over the fire. He wanted more time with her there, more of everything but life would go on outside those walls and they had obligations to others.

The horses bunched together in small groups, moving slowly as they trotted by. The word in the hamlet was the herd would leave in a few days, travelling to Edoras and other villages. Tauriel had made comments about joining them, thinking of lending a hand to the muster as well as having a safer journey with a larger troop. Kili had disagreed, not wanting to stay longer and made convincing arguments to the same. She knew all of his feelings, even when he didn’t tell her every reason behind them. Alfgivia and her schemes, he would save until they were far away from here.

Already dressed for travel with bow and cape, Tauriel cut an impressive figure. The boots she wore were not Elvish nor were they the heavily studded affairs that so many Rohir favored. Always light on her feet, so much padded leather would have rooted her, slowing her down. He could only assume she had commissioned the pair and probably a spare set with specific detail in mind. Her clothes were non-descript, brown leggings and bleached tunic with a light brown surcoat, split at the back for riding to hang down to the knee. The leather styled bodice was the only article she wore that might be consistently foreign to this land.

Weland had agreed to allow their horses to be stabled instead released into the valley with the rest of the herd. The packing would be much faster and easier that way, it also permitted for quieter farewells. They dismounted at the causeway, leading the horses to the gates. If Tauriel possessed morose sensibilities at leaving, it didn’t show. She greeted the guards in usual style with a rapid flow of guttural Rohirric that the Dwarf could not attune his ear. No matter how he tried, the words of this language escaped him instead of being agreeable to his understanding.

The loud bangs from the open doors to the hall spoke of esprit and comradery, the brisk verve of a brash people. Tauriel smiled as a song echoed to them with a jouncing beat but she smoothed his cloak in place before he could ask the nature of her smile. She wouldn’t intrude, not all would be happy in her choices. Goodbyes had been said at the village except for the ones she had been the closest, who would farewell them this morning.

Their companions met them at the entrance to the stable block. Like Bain and Dorlad, Kili was dressed with functionality in mind. The chill was deeper than normal, the cold bite of winter was upon this land. The padded gambesons covering their rough tunics would insulate against the frosty weather with the heavier cloaks thrown over them. Swords were hung at easy pull, especially from horseback for close quarters fighting. Tauriel had mentioned that her speed was negated upon Flandif so she would be handling her bow at every opportunity.

The passageway to the main branch was short and wide for three Riders astride to flow in and out of the great carved doors. The equine motif was as strong here as anywhere in the fortress with stylized animals racing across an unknown expanse upon swift feet. It was the temple of every Rohir, the focal point of their existence. While homes were a bare necessity for the populace, the horses enjoyed carved stalls and elaborate mangers of sweet feed. Kili had seen it in the village too, horses were tended before the Rohir saw to themselves.

A small assembly waited in the aisle for them as Arnorra wiped away her tears. The loud clang of hooves upon stone continued as boys ran to check animals and feed others. Alfgivia folded her hands demurely as Aeldklif held a hand to Dorlad and they spoke quietly. Tauriel clasped hands with Arnorra and Lifa while Kili and Bain went with Weland to begin packing the horses, taking Flandif from his Elf. Much had already been done before they arrived with only a few incidentals left to arrange. Daisy was particularly cheerful to see Warg when Kili led the pony into her stall, shifting around in her stall to follow him. The Dwarf scratched her face in affection as Warg circled behind her to get at the feed box at the rear of the space. Checking her hooves and finding them well filed, he let her go to check the fastenings on her loaded back.

Bain had an interested expression as he watched Tauriel interact with the Rohir. The chattering persisted when Tauriel walked to the stall and Alfgivia followed much to Dorlad’s obvious displeasure. Kili’s concern multiplied as the tone took almost a pleading edge from the Lady of the Keep until Aeldklif gave her a sharp rebuke. Their daughters stepped away, removing themselves from the exhibition, even Dorlad looked uncomfortable. The Dunedain scooped several bundles of wrapped supplies, carrying them to their animals on the other side of the expanse.

The hissed comments ranged back and forth between the couple as Kili finished with Daisy’s pack and walked out to help Bain and Dorlad with Gilesgal. Tauriel’s tone bore strong finality, drawing Kili’s attention to them once again. Alfgivia’s lips had thinned until they disappeared into her mouth as her eyes flashed with anger. The rigidity of the situation wasn’t lost to him and he wondered what had pushed for the anger. The daughters of the house were quite removed, talking to Dernhelm a few stalls away. Aeldklif didn’t back down his stance from his wife until she finally cast her gaze to the floor though her hands balled into tight fists at her side. Tauriel bowed her head to them both, walking away as the undercurrents between the couple swirled in faster eddies.

She gave her hand to Weland and then again to Dernhelm with words of strict nature that could only be a warning in reference to Arnorra. The wan smile from the dark haired girl proved the statement true as a blush stole over her pale cheeks. Kili thanked Aeldklif for his hospitality with Tauriel’s assistance, giving him a small leather bag of cut gems for Arnorra and Lifa when they married. It was a small gesture but the Lord gave his hand to the Dwarf again, smiling and wishing safe journey. Dorlad joined them, giving his hand too as Tauriel led Flandif and Gilesgal from the stable. Isen snorted at Bain’s shoulder, impatiently pawing the stone. He was as eager as Kili to see the end of this place of entrapped secrets, eager to be on the road again.

“Aeldklif advises going south of Edoras. Make for the village of Upbourn to stay tonight with an old friend of his who married a local girl. From there we can take the Great West Road on the other side of the Snowbourne.” Dorlad gave Tauriel a meaningful glance that made Kili huff a deep breath. “On the other side of the Mering stream, it will be very likely that we will encounter travelers. She should wear her hood up during the day and minimize the chance of discovery.”

Tauriel understood that going to Gondor might be a problem, yet she had embraced the idea wholeheartedly. The possibility of seeing the White City was a drawn in and of itself, no matter the crumbling society. The great libraries there had established it as a cultural center of learning, housing the last great artifacts of the once glorious Kingdom. Now, a steward sat in place of the High King, a caretaker until a Man of Numenor stepped forward and took his seat of power.

None of the wisdom of the Elves was in residence in the far city, only the greed and pomposity of Men. Elvish ways and language were coveted but the Gondorian attitudes were inflated as they boasted of blood long spent. The society was not of their choosing, if Alfgivia was the epitome of their thinking. Still, Tilda was there and it was a near thing to travel a week to see her when Bain had not his sister’s company in three years.

They rode from Helm’s deep in silence one equal temper of heroic hearts, oppressed by the last visage of its caretakers. Arnorra, Lifa and Aeldklif with the saddest expressions though Lifa refused to speak to any save Tauriel. Weland and Dernhelm were stoic in their farewells while Kili thought he might have caught the odd tremble of Weland’s lip. These were the ones that Tauriel would miss, Kili thought as Dernhelm took position behind Arnorra to stand and give her comfort. They each waved farewell as the trio became a quartet, mounting at the end of the causeway as the Riders of Rohan walked among the herd.

Alfgivia was the most chilling, the coldest. Her bearing was every inch a lady and just as removed from them all. The stones of the Hornburg were warmer than she and the broken statues of the long dead Kings of Rohan held more life. Three years, Tauriel had resided in these walls and there was no affection from the Lord’s wife when she left. The hot anger in the Lady’s eyes as she bid Kili farewell ignited his own, yet his rejoinder was pleasant.

They loped through the Westfold, just south of the Great West Road with the snow caped White Mountains their right shoulder. The horses were trusted to find solid footing amongst the rocks as the trail slinked around turtled mounds of stone. The fields had been gathered already, leaving gray turned earth that had been gleaned down to the stub before the plow had been used. These were a hardy people, sparing nothing and using all. Fengal wasn’t one to take so much that he people went hungry but there wasn’t much to spare.

An hour into their ride, he could stand the silence no longer. “What issue was there in the stable? Alfgivia’s manner rather offended Aeldklif.”

Dorlad looked to Tauriel who shrugged. “She wanted us to stay longer, offering you a position with Weland in the blacksmith shop. Her opinion was that as a Dwarf, you would enjoy working with metals. I told her it wasn’t possible and that we would be leaving. Lord Aeldklif was rather incensed when she pressed the matter.”

“She wanted to show you off to her cousin when he arrives soon.” Bain told her quietly, as the reins went slack in his fingers. Isen tossed his head, letting the leather slap back at his Rider.

“Yes, I know of her opinions. She really must take more care about closing doors before she has an argument. I cannot hear through stone but the corridors are like a funnel when it comes to sound.” The Elf’s expression was unconcerned and Kili gave a sigh of relief. Had her face blanked itself, the comment would have wounded her.

“Aeldklif told her no?” Kili pressed, unsure of what he had seen on the Lord’s face.

“Most assuredly.” Dorlad spoke up with a smile. “He reminded her who was Lord of the Keep. He told her of Dernhelm asking for Arnorra after the wedding and she accepting. As I understood it, Aeldklif has taken another room in the Tower for some peace of mind away from his wife.”

Bain smiled most contentedly at the Lady’s transgression, worrying Kili on what had transpired while he was away. The young Prince handled Gilesgal’s lead for a turn and he scratched behind her ear. Bain had a distal feeling towards Elves that Kili could understand but for the good natured lad to take enjoyment in marital discord was interesting. He was not one for taking pleasure at another’s woe. Likewise the Dunedain looked very uncomfortable as well, like the meal they shared in the saddle was not staying in place.

“What ails you both? I’m gone two days with my lovely bride,” Kili absently reached to stroke her leg at his side since Warg couldn’t be moved from Flandif’s side save using a torch to his hindquarters. “and you two act as if you have been wronged in some way when its my love how has been the bearer of the worst.”

They looked to each other, the two Men, then to Tauriel and both straightened in their saddles. There was a pact of silence that Kili could not understand and the disquiet of it bothered him greatly. They rode for a league or more until they came to a shallow pool and decided to give the horses a rest before turning off their direction and head for Upbourn. Dismounting, they each checked their animals, their legs and hooves as their companions drank from the water.

After a long stare from the Dunedain, Bain broke the quiet workings of their makeshift camp. “I walked upon Dorlad and Alfgivia under stairs the night of your wedding. She was in the midst of making advances to him.”

Kili couldn’t begin to say how shocked he was at this revelation. He gapped at his friends whose attention was centered on Tauriel then himself as worry etched into their faces. Looking to his wife, he noticed the blank expression that he had thought to see not a few minutes ago. The only movement she made was a slight tremor of fingers upon Flandif’s back. The mare’s head snapped up at her Rider’s sudden shift in mood, dancing in place with her ears forward.

“What kind of advances?” Her tone was soft over Flandif’s snorting and pawing hoof as she looked to Bain and Dorlad. Kili straightened as he watched the exchange, tucking the hoofpick into his pocket.

“Alfgivia and I were lovers before her marriage to Aeldklif. She thought I might be still of the same mind as I was then.” Dorlad shrugged and said nothing else but Kili left there was a wealth of much left unsaid.

It was a cold shock to know that the Lady of the Keep was not true. He had liked Aeldklif for himself as well as his even hand with his people. Kili had seen it on the road, a man’s wife would take a walk into the woods with another. Mostly it was of the Mannish race that he had seen the adultery, although there had been a widowed Hobbit woman that had taken quite a likening to Fili. While he didn’t considered such as being unfaithful to her departed husband, it had been quite a shock to Burin and himself.

Tauriel stared the Dunedain for a space of time, just staring as if this words held a double meaning. She turned at last to face him, her green eyes searching his. “How long before her marriage were you lovers?”

“Not long at all, but I had shared by blankets with her for some weeks before they pledged.”

The blanched pale of her cheek was closer to snow than her norm escalating the Dwarf’s concern. “The Lady Arnorra was born to them some seven months from their joining, in late spring. A large child as told by those that remember.”

Dorlad looked to Bain again and nodded. Kili didn’t understand at first the track of this conversation. “What goes on here?” He asked his companions.

“Arnorra is Dorlad’s child. Not Aeldklif’s.”

There was much steel in her voice as her anger took root against the woman who had hurt her friend. Elves were much harsher with such things than Dwarves had ever thought. Marriage was for life with them as was Dwarves and neither race could tolerate a spouse that was untrustworthy. He took Tauriel in his arms for comfort, feeling the angry buzz in her body.

“Shall we go back?” He asked the others.

Kili knew one thing for certain: never judge a relationship unless you are the one wrapped up in its arms. Had he listened to those to spoke against the Elf he loved, he wouldn’t be with her now. Looking at her with the sun in her hair, highlighting it into a clouds of flames about her head, the peace he had found in her arms was priceless. He would want the same peace for a Man of Rohan he called friend.

“No.” Dorlad replied, standing as well. “Alfgivia allowed for Arnorra to live as Aeldklif’s child. I won’t see either of Arnorra or Aeldklif shamed for Alfgivia’s past deeds. Maybe ….one day..”

The heavily folded hush descended, following them like carrion for the rest of the day. No one spoke unless it was needed, giving the usual sparking golden nature of their company a dulled pewter feeling. Each mile they rode took from Helm’s Deep and faster towards their next adventure away from the souls of those they knew had touched them irrevocably. Alfgivia, Werrmund, Aeldklif and Dorlad’s unknown child, Arnorra would forever be apart of their thinking and the lessons they learned for each encounter.

The River Snowbourne was white caped with a fast moving current, swollen as they had suspected the Fords of Isen to be. Though not as deep as its sister to the west, the Snowbourne was wider with easier footing in the cold shallows. It held magnificent views of Edoras seated at its promontory to the Northwest of their position. The Great West Road was visible as well, teaming with people and goods on the way to the capital of the horselords.

Kili stealing glances of Tauriel as they rode, but her face gave nothing away. These were people who had fed and sheltered her for three years, caring for her as much as a solitary Elf might allow. The revelations that the Lady of the Keep was not all that she appeared on the surface, bothered Kili immensely. Could she have nefarious schemes besides the surface of a grasping mother? Those ideas reminded him of seeing the Lady of the Keep in the Healing Halls with Werrmund, making him wonder if there had been underlying motives. Whatever they had been or could be in the future, they couldn’t touch his love now. If Dorlad wished to return that way in the Spring, Kili would stand for his friend but he would put an arrow through Alfgivia’s throat if she dared approach his wife.

They turned south to Upbourne with the River at their left, making good time. Tauriel pulled up the hood of her cloak, obscuring all but few locks of deep red hair. The paths to the village were worn as the locals travelled to Edoras and often. A couple hours at most with a steady pace, it would take all day by foot. Hallowdale breakered against the White Mountains, its scrub brown plains lapping at the sentinel peaks. They wouldn’t be travelling into the Paths of the Dead near Dunharrow but curving back to the Great West Road and missing Edoras with its Golden Hall all together. The haunted mountains didn’t scare him but the ghosts would have no love for a Dunedain nor an Elf, Kili imagined.

They arrived at sundown to the village of Upbourne, seated on the eastern bank of the Snowbourne. Smaller than the hamlet near Helm’s Deep, it was a farmer’s village with less paddocks to support a herd of horses. The animals present were large and stout boned: oxen and horse alike for plowing, Kili assumed. Smoke streamed out of chimneys of each croft with the occasional laugh to break the silence. There was a large granary and mill attached to the stream, the large cog turbine spinning in the shade of the surrounding hills.

It was a happy place, happier than other areas of Middle Earth. Homes were well tended without the gloom of illness and shadow. People stopped their chores to stare inquisitively as the quartet passed them by, nodding or raising a hand when Dorlad and Kili prompted with their own. The malice that was beginning to awaken in Mordor had not touched this place as it had others. It was a good place to raise a family, spend a life.

A tall Man with the white sandy hair of the Rohir with an elder at his back walked out of a stand of tree. His tan lined face might have placed him between the ages of young to old but his mien was of authority. It wasn’t rich cloth he wore but serviceable wool and leather, good for long days in the fields or training animals. He stared at them each in a direct way that reminded Kili of a hunter or a soldier, his eyes lingering on Tauriel’s hood as if he wanted to know who lay in its dark recesses. Undoubtedly, they were about to make the acquaintance of the headman of Upbourne.

Dorlad dismounted, placing a hand upon his heart in greeting before extending it the Man. Their conversation was back and forth a few moments with the residents beginning to crowd behind their leader. Gray pallor hung about a few of the assembled, giving him the suspicion that they were survivors of the malaise.

Bain allowed Isen to step closer to Warg. “They don’t seem hostile, but I wouldn’t call them friendly.”

Kili grunted, annoyed that he couldn’t reach for Tauriel’s leg right beside him. These people were unknown to him and calling attention to himself at the moment could be unwise. Daisy pulled at her line as she nickered behind them. Looking around the perimeter, there was no Inn or guest house here so far from the Road. He cared not if there was a barn as long as the hay didn’t have mites, just a place they might lay their head for a few hours until daybreak.

Several listened to Dorlad, but their looks began to slide over Bain and himself. They watched the horses too and their responses, particularly the elders, judging if the quartet might have stolen the animals somewhere in the west. The headman called to another of the group but his attention never drifted from Dorlad, watching his hands and expression. Another walked through the crowd, his manner was the same as any and more blatant in his scrutiny. The conversation continued when introductions made and the flow became more relaxed as the new Man to the group gave a hearty laugh.

“Our contact?” Bain whispered as tension ran from the crowd like water, smiles easing in its wake.

“Yes, that is Sigewulf.” Tauriel said quietly as she began to dismount from Flandif. “Aeldklif’s friend, we are invited to use an empty house by the river. The previous occupants died of old age instead of fever. Those who contracted the illness and lived are staying together for the present.”

Kili dismounted along with Bain, leading Daisy forward and taking Gilesgal’s lead. The villagers laughed at something this Sigewulf said as well as the arm gestures for a thing quite large in proportion. Dorlad pointed to each of them, saying their name. When it pointed to Tauriel, the chieftain of the Upbourne cocked his head to the side as if puzzling out her name. It was strange, this aquiline stare that Kili stepped in front of her to draw the Man’s attention.

Sigewulf and Dorlad missed the byplay completely, pointing to the house that would be theirs for the night. The sun wasn’t set but in the lee of the Mountains the shadows crept forward with grasping hands. Kili looks around this side of the village with an appreciative eye. In the gathering dark, the little things pop out from the gloom. Extra water wheels passed the grist mill, two more stacked granaries set back into the tree line close to a crag. There were things out in front for the average raider to see and loot but backup stores that were protected in case of a pack of Orcs that might tumble their way through the Folde.

Their cautious nature did them credit but it didn’t save them from the disease that had spread Northeast from Gondor. The preparation against the sword and axe wouldn’t stop that for which they could not see. This holdfast had not been hit so hard as others but the ones they had lost numbered their children more than the elders. New settlers would be needed if the village was to survive beyond the next generation.

Sigewulf escorted them to the house so that they might allow the horses some rest. The Snowbourne’s banks lay not far, and the wide rush of the water would be a lull once the sun set. Well constructed and thatched, Bain ducked inside to get a small fire going from the supply of turf bricks and wood that were stacked outside the croft. There was a good sized covered lean to at one side that they tethered the animals and began to see to their care. They wanted to be away after sunrise, special attention was giving that only the barest essentials be unpacked while the rest lay against the bearing wall. The chieftain stood at the edge a far grove, watching them work but no intruding.

“Dorlad, is there some reason he watches us so close?” Kili asked the Dunedain as he bent over his gelding’s feet. Warg was almost chipper tonight as he rubbed his face against Flandif’s barrel.

“Word has travelled from Gondor. The ague started from Osgiliath and swept south. Something about diseased slaves that were captured in Ithilian. He doesn’t know us, so he doesn’t trust.” Dorlad told him simply.

Kili could understand the reason but not why the close inspection of his wife. “He was very curious of Tauriel.” It was said quietly but he wasn’t fooled that she might not have heard him.

“Her cowl was up, he wonders if she carries of the rotting disease. I told him I hope not as we are traveling to Gondor together.” The laughter was the first Kili had heard from Dorlad all day and it was good to him. The Dunedain still had a capacity to laugh when things seemed at their worst.

With the animals settled, the quartet joined Sigewulf and his family for simple fare of root vegetables and roast venison. There was no raw food, everything was cooked as they were concerned that the illness might have found its way into their food stuffs. Dorlad explained that if it had happened during the summer, they would have tossed their food and began again with fresh things. But with winter arrived, the villagers would boiled and bake all of their food during the cold months and hope for the best.

Sigewulf’s wife had been shocked when Tauriel had removed her cloak, babbling quickly with a smile. They had likely never seen an Elf and Tauriel spoke quietly in Rohirric surprising them still that she knew their language. Aeldklif’s friend asked her many questions when she told him that Tauriel served at Helm’s Deep. Somethings she spoke readily while others, she looked to Dorlad to finish. Speaking in Westron to Kili, she told him that the questions were of a personal nature, asking if Aeldklif still attached himself to Alfgivia and how were his daughters? Dorlad was looking very uncomfortable until they managed to shift the subject to a different path.

The quartet passed an hour or more with Sigewulf’s family as a polite gesture since he had vouched for their entry. Their croft was as sturdy as any other dwelling with dried herbs hanging from the rafters and under baskets of vegetables. Their daughter was married and living in Edoras, a weaver along with her husband. They had two sons training in Dunharrow and likely wouldn’t be home until late winter for the planting. Sigewulf was jovial Man who loved his wife despite the passing of years and was loved dearly in return if the Dwarf read the wife of the house correctly. The Man of Rohan was more than her husband, her champion and the jesting fool who made her laugh. Sigewulf was her everything, for he was the only thing she saw. That the Gods had blessed them with children was additional because first they had been blessed with each other.

It humbled Kili, making him reach for Tauriel’s hand. Dorlad and Bain stayed on with a rueful shake of their heads, making Tauriel roll her eyes at them. Privacy wasn’t required tonight for his Elf wore many of her aggravations in a stern expression. Giving their farewells to their hosts, they spoke little as they walked back to their croft. The horses nickered in greeting, Flandif snorting at being tied until Tauriel spoke to her softly. He touched her arm in parting as he entered the dwelling and began to strip out of his weapons. Their pallets he placed on the wood floor away from the fire as he wouldn’t be needing the additional heat as would the Men. His Elf was indifferent to the seasons as one might expect, feeling it only when it suited.

They settled down together, scantily clad as Kili released her braids and loving the feel of her fingers in his hair as she combed out his own. The scrape of nail or a rough callas coaxed his mind to peace but a rude thought reminded him of today’s events. Sigewulf’s wife loved her husband, Tauriel loved him beyond thought, so what had happened to Alfgivia to make her so twisted?

He could never understand what might have driven a woman of Gondor and Rohan to look upon another man when the very finest lay at her side each night. Those inconceivable thoughts chased each other like puppies in the field, tumbling over and again. Pulling his love close to him in the darkness, it wasn’t a possibility for him to see any save her. Balin had said often that love is a labyrinth of insanity. Just when you think you are on the correct path, you walk into a wall. Deciding that these thoughts served no purpose than to keep him from sleep, the Dwarf rolled to his side to envelop his love and let those thoughts drift away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit slow and I know it.. I have mental fight scene raging between Kili and Dain... ohh the angst,,, they aren't leaving me along..
> 
> snippet of what I am talking about..  
> Dain chuckled at Kili but almost ignoring him at the same time. “Careful there, laddie. You'll never sing the same sweet song if your teeth aren't your own.”
> 
> Kili grinned a fiercely, showing two rows of strong whites. “Look to yourself, old boar. You getting a little long in the tooth to make a run at me.”
> 
> “Well, aren’t you half the cheeky bastard. Think you got sand because you mounted a tree shagger and she claimed you for pity?”
> 
> “I know I got the sand, because I have an arrow with your name on it. A black fletched arrow, to be sure.”
> 
> How can I write sensitive emotional Kiliel with that bouncing around my skull like shoes in a washing machine!!!!! lol


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love me tender,  
> Love me dear,  
> Tell me you are mine.  
> I'll be yours through all the years,  
> Till the end of time.
> 
> ~ Elvis Pressley - Love Me Tender ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tauriel's POV and sheee ain't happy
> 
> Hervann is Sindarin for husband so when she calls him that you won't think she is sneaking another man under Kili's nose.

 

Morning in Upbourne, Rohan

Tauriel rose quietly from the pallet, tucking the blankets closer to Hervenn as he snuffled deeper. There had been no sleep for her as the last of the darkness freed the sky to the coming sun. Its rays cast so many shadows that the day creates more illusion than all the veiled truth of the night. She dressed with minimum fuss to walk out to the river’s edge where the water rushed beyond her sight. In the heavens where indigo and cobalt warred with blood orange and golden reds, the last stars stubbornly held their white light. It was a farewell, she knew, for the stars were different in every land. Tauriel had no knowledge of how long they would stay in Gondor or what would become of them after but it would be an altered sky to what she knew for the intrium. Rohan and Alfgivia would become a memory in the night’s sparkling paradise and one day she might look upon it without sadness for Aeldklif.

To know of her friend’s abuse bothered the Elf greatly, something she kept from Kili who would have worried needlessly. Tauriel fought off her fury at the knowledge she held, pacing along the shoreline in lengthening strides. She wanted nothing more than to ride back to the Helm’s Deep and demand an answer for the transgressions to its Lady. Aeldklif had defended the keep and look upon each with a fair heart and open hand. It was a shame that he was bound to a wife with wide open legs as well. What she had accomplished before the marriage rites was her own point, but Alfgivia had passed her child as the Rohir Lord’s when Arnorra was the flesh of the Dunedain scout. Whatever misuse the Lady had intended with Tauriel, the Elf might ignore but not where it affected her husband or friends. The Gods never looked favorably to liars and Alfgivia’s sins were growing.

So many choices before them and not all of them kind ones, she thought as she dug the heels of her hands into her eyes. Bain would have to go home at some point and to the Dunedain to his tribe. Each was needed amongst their people, as was her Dwarf. Whether Kili understood this or not, he made no mention. Kili had been of use to his tribe because he was more than the King's Justice, a weapon to stave off the enemies. He had been a son, a brother, a nephew. _Once_. Looking back to the cottage, she wondered how his family saw him now, how they would regard her.

He was her husband, Melda min and she wouldn’t give him up for any reason. Not her King, his King nor any other would stand between them. Thorin was dead, burying his sickness and the festering rot with him. He could not touch them now from his stone edifice. It was Fili who sat the throne and had once been a comrade while they cloistered in Dale. He was in favor of their love then but what of their mother? How would she react to an Elven near daughter?

Staring up the pale endlessness of dawn, Tauriel had always thought there was an answer to all life's mysteries in the stars. However, of late whenever she stared at them, the answer slipped out of her grasp. But she had to think now, and she stared at the smoke-dimmed stars in the hope that they would help her, but all they did was go on shining until the last winked away. Aule would grant her knowledge if she were to truly fail as it did in Rivendell, it would be so again if her faith was strong enough.

The village was beginning to stir with life and body. Cattle needed milking, along with the other livestock and their feed. Tauriel ambled back to the lean to and began sorting out the feed since the others had not roused themselves. Several feed bags had been packed for easy care, rather than handfeeding or pouring it on the ground. Looping the bags around each horse’s head, she rechecked their hooves when she felt an odd prickle at her neck. Silently, she cursed herself for not wearing her cloak and cowl.

Spinning around with a dagger in hand, Tauriel came face to face with the headman of Upbourne. Bowing with a hand on her chest as was polite, she advised him in quiet tones. “ _It is not wise to be so close and not announce yourself_.”

“ _An Elf_!” His face blanched in shock, responding in kind. “ _I thought you bore an illness…That was why you were covered so_! _Why do you travel so far from your kin?”_

Dorlad walked out of the croft at that moment, laying a hand upon his blade. “ _Step away from her. Her husband is rising and will take offense_.”

Tauriel looked to Dorlad who shrugged a bit at the announcement, giving her a momentary fear. Kili would cut this Man down for the slightest disagreement. Werrmund’s injury would seem paltry indeed with no rules of engagement to hold her Dwarf in check.  

“ _Married? Not to the boy for he has barely a chin of hair! So an Elf married a Dwarf? Why would one of the Fair ones marry a Dwarf_?” The chieftain grated at him as if he had a right to such knowledge.

“Let us leave this place.” Tauriel told the Dunedain slowly, her eyes never leaving the Man of Rohan. The holdfast had given them sanctuary, she wouldn’t repay it in blood for all of his ignorance.

Bain and Kili walked outside in the middle of Dorlad trying and failing to discuss the situation with the Headman. Kili’s face turned to stone as he read the gestures between the two Men correctly. Tauriel pulled him to her, touching his forehead with her own in greeting. Her annoyance at the Man’s intrusion grew as Kili grumbled under his breath, angered at the dissenter. His attention kept snapping to Dorlad and the chieftain as they spoke in somewhat calmer tones. Taking his hand in hers, she stared into his eyes. His thumb rubbed over her knuckles slowly as the agitated seas of his mood expanded its energy upon her shore. He had come for her and she had claimed him. Their love was stronger than the snarky tones of others.

The three worked steadily, packing the animals as they ate. They wouldn’t be riding for a while as the horses would still be digesting their food and it would put them in danger of a twisted belly. Bain brought her cloak to her with the rest of the rolled pallets that were tied down to Gilesgal. The Rohir sneered something she didn’t understand but the tone bleed out her happiness all the same. She didn’t understand his anger or the fuss only that it was apparent this Man of Rohan didn’t abide two races mixing in such a manner or anything really that wasn’t of Rohan. It reminded her to closely of Werrmund and his attitude.

Gathering their things, they walked out of the Village as the chieftain followed. Sigewulf walked out with a parcel under his arm, meeting derision for his part in their guests company. The Rohir was taken aback by the headman’s attitude, his own anger flushing his cheeks in response. A few residents were out in the early light, stopping to stare at the spectacle of two growling Men.

The conversation began to heat as Dorlad said a few quiet words and then bowed to Sigewulf in farewell. It surprised Tauriel that their thinking was so exclusionist, almost amazing that she had been accepted in Helm’s Deep. Anyone of the Men she had ridden with, talked to, or broke bread could and might have the same isolation feelings and not enjoy the exposure of other races. How could they have lived so long without the touch of a different soul?

“Think no more upon this, good Lady.” Dorlad spoke to her, as Kili grumbled at her side. “Hard times make for hard feelings. He felt bereft that he wasn’t told of your personage within our group. He would like to have hosted you himself, not handed you off to an abandoned croft. He knows he offended, yet a Man’s pride refused to allow apology.”

The time away from Mirkwood had changed her sensibilities, stretching her awareness. Mirkwood was a closed society not so much different from Rohir but not for the same reasons. These people feared what they did not know while the Thrandiul fought for their lives against Orcs and Spiders. Exposure to other things brought change for good and bad, something that she had argued for in last years. Her own change had come in the form of her husband and love.

Taking the reins, they began their trek earlier than scheduled but still together. “Their feelings are their own, but I am no different than any of you.” Tauriel spoke with conviction before reaching out to touch Kili’s beard. “ _My_ feelings run swift for a handsome Dwarf who is marvelous in my eyes.”

The tension of the departure released with a spontaneous laugh as Kili threw back his head, guffawing as a happy Dwarf might be able. He pulled her forward for a quick kiss, the fleeting touch comforting as only the brush of love can be. They passed bread and dried meat to each other from the Sigewulf’s pack, leading the horses on beside the Snowbourne. What a wide country, Tauriel thought as sun peaked over the world. The radiance of the new day wasn’t spoiled due prejudice, though she did feel a bit sorry for the Man’s unforgiving convictions.

They stopped at an outcropping to relieve themselves before mounting up. Kili set her braids as she did his, snickering as he stole kisses or gave them at every opportunity. If there were any lingerings from the Rohir, it wasn’t present in his face. His love shone brighter than the sun at his shoulder, tugging out her smiles. Kili’s brashness coupled with his infectious laughter had always lit her soul. He fingered the curve of her ear, giving her a shock of her own before leaning down for another kiss. She lifted her face to meet his kiss, wanting the comfort of his touch as much as she could provide the comfort of her own. The contact was sweet and soft, yet at the same time desperate. Kili was so abashedly loving, so adoring of her that Tauriel giggled at the attention.

Deeming the horses fit to ride, they took their saddles and setting a light loop towards the Great East Road. The morning drifted them by in a cloud of dust, the temperatures rising with the sun. The quartet stopped at a small stream to water the horses and themselves. They three had spent many weeks aback, conditioning themselves due to the long hours each day. The Men were much more comfortable than her Dwarf it appeared to her by midday. The constant jarring motion from Warg’s pace didn’t agree with Kili when he ate, so he settled for a bite here and there and drank more. He wouldn’t hear of lesser pace, pursing his lips then flicking the reins at Warg.

Dorlad explained the Minas Tirith’s construction, the level layers stacked skyward like a halved onion. The Great Gate was the only entry and would clog up with lines of people and wagons trying to pass. The great White Tree of Gondor, prominent in its heralds and standards withered at the seventh level near the Tower of Ecthielion and the Citadel. The idea of such a place was titillating, the horses would not be of any use in the cramped streets. Slave bearers strapped to litters and sedans ran the streets with their patrons safely inside.

Osgiliath held within its fortified walls a small city, yet many were leaving each month for other opportunities. Kili was not in favor as it was too close to Mordor and the unseen enemy of Men. Her Dwarf had listened at Rivendell and knew of the stirrings in that ruined land. He voted for Minas Tirith as did Bain who would be closer to Tilda. Dorlad gave suggestions for Harlond, the port city along the Anduin. Out away from the Guarded City, ships lay at anchor from every province. The long plain of Pelennor connected the two settlements, only an hour or so ride apart. The conversation had taken so much of their thoughts when the first shout echoed across the open plain, none took immediate action.

There were at first glance four or maybe five wild Men running from the sparse forest cover and rocks, but Tauriel could see more watching their fellows from the wood line. Kili jumped from Warg, reading his bow while Tauriel was faster. She nudged Flandir to one side and rose in the stirrups, drawing a shaft from her quiver as she did so. The Elf had fired off two arrows to Kili’s one, felling both targets with deadly accuracy. Kili’s shaft buried into a wild Man’s throat, knocking him backwards. Elf and Dwarf drew once more but held as the remaining charge stopped and turned back for the safety of the trees.

“Do no pursue.” Tauriel told Dorlad as his drew his sword. “There will be more in the forest laying an ambush. We should go.”

“Agreed.” The Dunedain took the Gilesgal’s lead line so Tauriel’s hands would remain free.  

The horses leapt forward, sensing their riders distress. They strained out their bodies in a mile eating run, mighty hooves pounded the earth as they flew over the winter dead landscape. Even Warg with his shorter legs flung himself headlong after the group, refusing to permit himself to be left behind. They continued the pace for a few miles, until Tauriel drew upon the reins to slow Flandif who fought her every inch of the way. The large brown mare wasn’t convinced her Rider wasn’t still in danger.

Turning in the saddle, the Elf looked each over as they too drew up their horses. “Everyone alright?”

Her eyes strayed to Kili, watching every inch of him and fighting the impulse to pull him onto her saddle and protect him with her body. It was hard indeed to push such thoughts away when she could see the same in him. “Do you think more will be waiting? They might have been a diversion to drive us into an ambush.”

It was a common tactic to Easterlings. Spook a party that would wish to kill to see them flying forward in an effort to get away. After a few miles of the target running their horses down from fear, spring an ambush while the animals do not have the strength to run any further.

“I do not think so. They couldn’t predict which way we would go and they would need several bands to coordinate such a feat. Bandits closer to Gondor would use such strategies in the mountain passes.” Tauriel told them but kept her eyes roving in the chance she might be wrong.

Slowing the horses further, they reached a bend of the road that curved around a large brown grassed hill. Tauriel let her reins fall to the Flandif’s neck, to draw another shaft from her quiver and knock it to the bow. The cloak didn’t interfere to badly with her aim but her peripherals were nonexistent. Kili did the same but kept his reins as they let the horses slow to a trot into the bend. Worry made her draw hand tremble but she gritted her teeth to stave off the fear for her Dwarf, squeezing her right leg into Flandif’s side to push the animals left without the reins. The mare obliged but flicked her ears back and forth in anxiety.

Tauriel drew the arrow quickly when moving shapes came into view at the tail end of the curve. Men and a woman were repacking a large horse drawn cart in quick desperation with another holding horses under saddle not far away. One of the Men armed with a long sword, shouted to the others when Tauriel was noticed. Knowing Kili was at her back made her more aggressive than she might have been. The tension stayed the same, the bowstring humming as Flandif halted some hundred feet from the group scrambling for weapons.

“Halt! No! Wait!” A portly man waddled quickly in front of the half dozen Men who pulled swords while their single archer knocked an arrow. “ _Are you from Edoras_?” The stout man asked in Rohir.

Several thoughts crowed her tongue but Tauriel kept them behind her teeth. He was older, this Gondorian for that was what he was. Travel dressed in a fine robes of muted color, he was either a noble or a merchant for the cut of his cloth was expensive. He didn’t scoff at her or sneer, polite with an open expression greeted her from salted bushy eyebrows. The woman behind him was also travel dressed in good tan broadcloth but Tauriel could see that her first fingers were slightly bent from labor as well as ringless. Pasted her prime years, with a liberal sprinkling of white in her amassed bun, the Elf guess she was an employee to this merchant to show such fear. Or his mistress.

Dorlad spoke from behind her, yet Tauriel refused to relax until the opposing force did, maybe not even then. “We are late of Rivendell, on our way to Gondor. The wild men harried us when we passed, I assume they did you as well?”

Thinking he spoke to the leader of their company, the portly man continued. He looked disgruntled down the long wood of her arrow. “We too were set upon, and in the process of repacking our things. We are fabric traders from Gondor, here for the last of the weavings. Might you ask your guards to lower theirs arrows so that my guards will do the same?”

Tauriel looked over the men but paid attention to the fumbler who she had mistook for an archer. For truth, the boy was probably a hunter, used to killing game than people. He was a callow youth, not much younger than Bain. Dark hair, pale skin like any of the Gondorian’s coloring, yet he shared features with two others of the caravan to the point where Tauriel guessed them to be of the same blood. How close the kinship might be revealed at a later date.

“ _What think you, Rider_?” Using Rohir would ensure a partial privacy while the ambiguous term left her gender in question. Tauriel had no doubt that Dorlad spoke to her.

With her head back in her cowl, her face was shadowed from those in front of her. Keeping her identity to herself, Tauriel didn’t respond but slowly released the bowstring to lower the bow to her side. The arrow stayed where it was for easy firing. She refused to look to Kili, knowing that he was doing the same. Dorlad rode to the fore, trotting beyond Tauriel and Kili to leave Bain at the rear.

“I am Dorlad, late of Trollshaws and these are my companions. We will not burden you but advise caution. Wild men are more bold on the other side of Edoras, for them to be here means they are spreading out. Likely due to the recent plague.” Dorlad didn’t dismount, staring at the large Man.

The merchant eyed Tauriel and made an obvious show of staring at Kili as he motioned to his guardians to lower their weapons as well. Taking a step forward, he asked. “We are bound for Minas Tirith then to my home in Pelargir. If that be your journey, might we not travel together? It is all the same road, though with the wagon, our pace would be slower than yours.”

There was an explosion of disagreement with rapid Sindarin fired off at the merchant from the Men at his back. The group stared at them with ill-concealed apprehension, noting weapons and placement. Her hand guard covered most of her slender hand while the other was gloved, the cape obscured her body size. To them she might just be another young Man for what little they could see. Dorlad looked back to them with a question on his face.

A cloth merchant would go heavily armed as his goods were always in need. He would welcome the addition if it cost him no coin and the added press of bodies might discourage would be attackers. Tauriel could see the woman look on the proceedings with a jaundice eye but not critical of the invitation as the guardians had been. The five guardians were Gondorian bred but thicker through the shoulders and thighs than Dorlad. They were used to standing at a fight then shifting sideways as a ranger might. Looking to Kili, Tauriel shrugged to allow that she had no opinion of the subject.

Kili looked them over as well and muttered his assent but pushed Warg closer to Flandif who lowered her head and blow her nostrils at the Men. No doubt, the whites of Warg’s eyes were showing as he bared his teeth. As long as they camped away from the group and associated only on the road, she might not be discovered. But what would happen if she was? Could these Men think to hold her for some nefarious purpose? If Elves were so revered, would they accost her in some fashion to hold her as if she were some menagerie animal?

The guardians complained while Dorlad and the merchant called Tarthalion of the House of Artamirian discussed terms of their relation in swift Westron. The verbal lapse of the guardians reminded Tauriel that she would need to work with Kili and Bain more to improve their Sindarin if it was a secondary language where they would stay. The flow of the sentences didn’t have the same meaning as she knew it, but then any language was a river, picking up other things as it moves on a steady course. Bain dismounted, tying Gilesgal’s lead to Isen’s saddle. The stallion was younger than the mare but he was not as flighty as she and had proved to be a soothing influence.

Bain walked forward to greet them as Tauriel leaned down to whisper to Kili. “We should scout ahead to see what lies beyond.” The day progressed placing them close to the larger town of Aldburg along the route. They had thought to make it there by late afternoon but with the new additions to their company, it might be late morning tomorrow.

“Agreed.” Kili rose in his stirrups to address Dorlad. “We will ride ahead and secure the route.”

The Men looked to each other then back to Dwarf with suspicion. They trusted no easier than the Rohir, Tauriel thought as she flicked the reins and let Flandif find her stride. Warg’s harsh beat drummed beside her as they trotted away. The path wasn’t as rutted as it could be, the evidence of old pavers crumbled and pushed to the edges. Once it had been laid with stone and mortar to accommodate the heavy carts that traveled to in the shade of the mountains. Time was the enemy more so than Mordor and its agents. Neglect or maybe focus on other aspects of the realm too precedence over things such as roads and strained relations between Kingdoms.

The forests were thicker here but it was a young wood, the trunks had not filled to their fullest. Winter had robbed them of their leafy coverage, baring their stark limbs to frigid winds. They sleep, she reminded herself as she looked at their dormant majesty. The Silvans hibernated in much the same way, becoming less active in the winter months. Many of her guard would wrap themselves up in their mate, not to be seen for days. The stone palace of the Elvenking was their own cave of protection from the worst of the frosty months.

“The guardian Men do not want us.” Kili stated as he drew up his piebald. The pony snorted, pawing the broken graveled space.

“As well they shouldn’t. You were of their mind once. Would you want unknowns in your midst each night?” She softened her tone for she wouldn’t fight with him over something of this nature. “We shall camp away from them but now our trip will take longer.”

“Yes.”

They surveilled the area in patterns that overlapped the other, not wishing to miss something that might be harm to their friends. The light clopping of hooves on gravel had Kili turning back the way they came as the wagon with two guards rode at the fore. Tarthalion handled the lines from his seat with the woman at his side, she had redressed her turban so that the cloth covered her nose and mouth. Gilesgal and Daisy were tied to the back of the wagon with Bain and Dorlad not far away until the Dunedain trotted to them.

“Anything?”

“Nothing.” Kili told him, motioning to their horses tied to the back. “Are they ok?”

“Yes,” Dorlad looked at the pony and horse. “I thought it would be easier if Tauriel and Bain take the front and you and I the back. They have no real archer and this will help.”

Tauriel didn’t want to be parted from Kili when there was danger lurking, but Dorlad was right in that splitting their resources was more practical. Reaching out she touched her gloved hand to his beard, “A few hours is nothing, A’maelamin.”

The words were for him, not herself. A few hours would take an eternal pace at their division as the bonds of their union strengthened. Each touch pacified the insistent longing for him, preventing reckless acts that her Dwarf might never condone. Breathing deeply to control her fluttering anxious Fea, her bare thumb caressed the bridge of his nose.

Leaning into her fingers slightly, Kili sighed. “I fear the stars shall find you tonight before I do, Amralime.” Turned a squealing Warg away, he and Dorlad walked to the back of the trail.

A guardian noticed their exchange and curled a lip at Tauriel. Her face in shadow, he could not see the feral anger provoked by his smirk but his eyes strayed to the sword hilt she griped in response. She cared not if he knew her desire for opening his belly to his neck but the journey together would start badly if she killed him now. Bain rode to her side as Isen trumpeted a challenge to one of the Guardian’s stallions that pranced by.

“What’s their problem?” He asked in disgust for he saw the look the guard gave her.

“I would say they like Dwarves less than King Thranduil did.” Tauriel advised as she looked over the other guardians. Flandif still sensed trouble as she pawed the ground, wanting to be away from here.

“How could they not favor Dwarves? They are so musical when they sleep.” The young Prince of Dale replied with a deadly earnest expression with his lips compressed to prevent a grin. They lay heels to their mounts to advance to the front of the column and check the route.

“Yes, a Dwarf in your bed and you are happy all day.” Bain burst out laughing at her comedy, completely missing the other meaning to the phrase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not everyone likes Dwarves but find them entirely useful... I would hazard that Gondorians might be intimated by them since they are a longer lived race and such valiant fighters.   
> I am shaping out the Gondorian chapters and their are going to be mostly from Bains POV.. Tauriel and Kili take the time to themselves to explore a bit. Tilda hasn't changed and is just as fun as she was in the movie.. 
> 
> Hervenn – Sindarin for Husband  
> Tarthalion – Gondorian name meaning Noble and Steadfast  
> Sigewulf means victory wolf


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take me into your loving arms  
> Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars  
> Place your head on my beating heart  
> I'm thinking out loud
> 
> Ed Sheeran - thinking out loud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for Cassidy and the darlings because Tauriel can't be a wimp lol
> 
> Kili's POV some fighting and violence with sexy times to blow off the steam.

_Rohan ~ between Upbourne and Aldburg_

 

 Kili starred at the cloaked figure of his wife as she loped off with Bain to take the head of the column. It was shaping up to be a pisser of a day as Bofur might have groused, none of it enlightened him the slightest bit. Jerking a little too rough on Warg’s mouth, had the pony squealing into a crow hop before he settled again. The piebald didn’t care to be away from Flandif anymore than he wanted to be away from Tauriel. Yes, quite the pisser of a day.

Dorlad hailed one of the guardians who pulled his mount beside, a common trait the Dunedain had to be nice to each that he met. The conversation went back and forth for a minutes with Kili several heads lower on his pony able to ignore it for the most part. When his friend introduced the head of their Guardian patrol, a broad Man named, Menelcar, the Dwarf found himself forced to be friendly. Very much against his will since it interfered with his sulk.

Dorlad leaned down and punched Kili in the arm. “Give over already.” Kili thought of reply with a rude gesture but hated to be _that_ grumpy.

Menelcar turned out to be literal fountain of information, and quite happy to share it. He worked detail in Harlond, doing security for the merchant’s patrols and making sure their warehouses were safe. The Gondorian was of a medium age, having begun the work for his father when he was not much older than Bain. One of the guardians was his brother and the youngest was a cousin. He knew his business and was vigilant at first until good conversation softened his regard and loosened his tongue. He had a belly laugh that would put Dwalin to shame if there was a contest.

Menelcar’s father was the Castellan of House Artamirian, an old trading family that had received its warrant during the last years of Artamir, King of Gondor. So proud were they of the honor, Tarthalion’s antecedents took the King’s name for their House and ever since those days, counted themselves the loyal to the White Tree and everywhere its shade covered. Kili also learned that Tarthalion was in semi retirement, passing the responsibilities of the House to his sons. Now, he traded for fabric with the families of Rohan only leaving Pelargir twice a year.

“I can’t think I have ever met a Dwarf. Why you stray so far from your mountains?” Menelcar wasn’t abrasive only curious and it made Kili smile in spite of his separation from his wife.

“I made a promise and my heart was tied to it.” Dorlad chuckled beside him when he spoke. They were all becoming masters at ambiguity.

The dark Gondorian with his gray green eyes stared at him in confusion. The twisted moue of his lips signaled that he puzzled the answer against what he knew and what he had observed. Nature didn’t abide humor, had no patience for jesting. Some of its children that spring from earth and rock have little humor in themselves though they tried to formulate conversation against witty repartee.

Dorlad took pity on the Man. “We make for Aldburg for tonight?”

“Yes. We will be there by sundown. My lord brought the owner of an inn there some good Lossarnach wine to hold a croft he lets out. There might be an issue with all of your steeds. Who is your cloaked companion?” He asked suddenly, one of the other guardians turned in his saddle to hear the conversation better.

“My _Wife_.” Kili stared hard at both Men, whether they understood the trespass he knew not.

The two murmured in Sindarian that he didn’t understand but Menelcar rode to the front to pace beside their master now that his curiosity had been satisfied. He sat his horse well, moving with the motion that spoke of long experience. The Man who let his curiosity get the better of him turned away with a huff. Kili turned back to letting his attention focus on his side of the road as well as keep an ear for what might be running up behind him.

Dorlad did the same but asked a question that seemed to be eating him as the miles slipped by them in changing form. “You are most possessive of her. I know not the way of your people, do males fight so jealously over their women?”

Kili shifted, at once uncomfortable about imparting the knowledge even to a friend. This Dunedain had come to his side, and called him friend when others looked down their nose at a Dwarf. It was not the same as it was with Bain who lived on Erebor’s front porch and whose sister had taken his brother to wed. Khudzul secrets stayed with the Dwarves and had always. Where this Man would go once they parted Kili couldn’t say but he would call him Dwarf Friend until the end of his days. Granting him knowledge was really a paltry thing.

“Dwarrows or male Dwarves do not take a wife, they are claimed by them. There are few females in any tribe and the ones born are cossetted from birth. Giving them the choice, it prevents internal strife for the most part.” Kili smiled as he looked to the Dunedain. “My own mother was the first daughter born to the Line of Durin in many generations. Dwarrowdams are the bearers of our race and we hold them in high esteem. Tauriel is my One, the beating heart of me. For Dwarves, any separation is difficult to take in the beginning.”

“For Elves too.”

Kili sighed at the Dunedain’s words, looking with unseeing eyes to the woodline. He knew there was more between them now than there had been years before in Laketown. He could feel it when he touched her, when they loved. It was more than the physical but a sharp awareness in her presence like a cord that tied them together, his soul to hers. Sometimes he felt a twinkling of her mood if her back was to him and he couldn’t see her face. A deep warmth would bloom in his chest if she was happy or a razored tug in his gut as he had just felt if she was angry. So much to learn and understand about his Elven wife the sometimes he felt overwhelmed yet nothing would make his change the course he sat now. Nothing in this world would make him give her up.

They travelled further down the road, mile after restless hating mile with the sun sinking down behind them in the west. Kili began to notice that the trees were not as dense here, thinning more and more as the road took on a different condition. Where before the lane had been level with minimum breakage of gravel and old pavers saw deep ruts from heavier wagons than what the dappled drafts ahead pulled for the House of Artamirian.

The mountain tops to their right were further in the distance here with the dark snowy caps in swirling gray. The temperatures were dipping lower in tandem with the sun, causing the Guardians to shake themselves and pull their cloaks closer about their bodies for what little warmth they could provide. Kili’s attention jerked to his left in sweeping motions. It had been his experience that it was in the late sun of a cold day that most of the attacks had come. Man and Dwarf would be looking to warmth themselves instead of watching for hedge thieves.

The forest broke into a glen at the bend of the road, fanning out knee high grasses in varying shades of life. Another road split the plain, a muddy tributary to the river that they used at present. Watchtowers stood at the woodline, a perch for a shepherd or herdsman. The older woman at the right of the merchant, Tarthalion, grunted loudly as the wagon slipped into a deep rut and jostled her in the hard seat. She grasped the sides quickly as the cart continued to rock side to side in a wild motion. Kili realized Tarthalion swayed with the shake and wobble, neither losing himself or his attention to the animals under harness.

Merchants he had known in life, handled not their wagons but let others do so, riding in the back under cover or aback a steed of some breed. If this House was so prestigious, how did its former head know how to handle a wagon so well? Earlier then they came upon the Gondorians, he was helping to repack the stock with the others, instead of getting out of the way. Most peculiar.

The wagon moved off the road, giving way to another conveyance to pass on the left. Gilesgal and Daisy trotted meekly behind, neither pulling away at the shift in direction. An older Man and his son steered an oxen team pulling an empty cart. The other Rohir called out to the merchant as they sailed by throwing up their hands in greeting. They nodded in turn as Dorlad and Kili rode on, surprising the Dwarf that they had been cordial.

The wagon didn’t return to road but staying in the tall grass as the traffic increased. A lone horseman or in pairs with some afoot ambled about their own business as the sun gave way to the moon. Aldburg lay before them, a wide holding to support a dense population. From his vantage there were many rooftops with curling tendrils of smoke as the day ended and people headed to hearth and home. More than a simple holdfast or meeting, it was a goodly place with a thriving community.

“Dorlad, have you been here before?” Kili asked as the large paddocks came into view, netted around a central barn.

“Yes. I overnighted here on my way to Gondor. Dunedain are encouraged to visit the southern Kingdom, as a reminder to guard against excesses. As we found in Helm’s Deep, the ales’ are worth the large head the next day.” Dorlad laughed as Menelcar rode up to them.

The Gondor Man bored a look of resignation as he drew abreast. “My young cousin, Nimgond has just returned. We are able to take the croft by the innkeeper but we will be bursting as it is. We were able to secure rooms at the inn for you four.”

Kili nodded to him in kind while Dorlad answered. “Our thanks for your concern, but one room only. Bain and I will take the stables to watch over the horses but my friend here might need the bed for his wife.”

Dorlad gave him a wink that made Kili roll his eyes. “We have no problem taking the stables and guard the animals.”

They crossed a wide bridge that lay before a low wall at the far bank of the rocky ravine. Purposely dug as a make shift moat, jagged rocks lined the bottom of the trench, burned blackened to prevent grass from growing. They had been placed there to cut into an invader, it wouldn’t do for the passaged to be cushioned by grass. The bridge might be torched at any point, preventing access to yonder hamlet. These were old defense tactics, and still in common practice here.

Menelcar watched exchange with a smile, guessing behind those grey eyes that the Man and Dwarf knew each other long enough that one or other might win the argument. “We could always ask the lady.” The Gondorian advised with a grin.

“Bain has had enough time in a bed and will grow soft in the coming months in Gondor. I say we take the stables.” Dorlad countered. “I’m sure the lady might be convinced of the same since privacy will become an issue for the days ahead.”

Kili’s shoulders sagged in defeat, and the Dunedain laughed when he saw it. He would deny her no comfort if possible but the idea of some privacy was most appealing. He gave a pointed stare at Dorlad whose was reduced to chuckles at this juncture. Even the Gondorian gave a laugh as well.

“There is a muster coming across Rohan, that is why we have been pressing on but it will end here in Aldburg. There is still room in the stable but it won’t last and we will be leaving early after sunrise to stay ahead.” Menelcar told him earnestly.

The guardian who had lent an ear earlier to their conversation threw a disgusted glance over his shoulder at them before riding ahead of his posting at the side of the wagon. It had not been the first instance of his unhappy regard they had been subjected, annoying both Dwarf and Dunedain in turn. Kili couldn’t see anything else of him as the road traffic was clogging his view but he was sure it wasn’t the last.

“Menelcar, who is that rider that had been at the rear today?” Kili asked as quietly as possible. Curiosity wasn’t a sin, he told himself, it was worth it to know who travelled with them.

“Maring.” The Gondorian sat up straighter with a neutral expression in the saddle as his bay shifted at the redistribution on his back. “His father is an old comrade of mine own. This will be his last duty with us.”

The Man lay heels to his mount riding away before he said more or was asked something he might not want to divulge. Dorlad and Kili looked to each other with the same thoughts on their face. It was obvious the guardian was a problem for Menelcar’s posture went from open and friendly to closed and removed. If it was this Maring’s last duty, did he know and that was the reason for his surly attitude. Trying and failing to prevent it from affecting his mood, Kili grumbled more under his breath.

“You sound like my gelding when he has a twisted belly. What ails you?” Dorlad asked him.

“I tire of the looks and comments because I am Dwarf. Had to explain the attitude to Bain when we stopped at your friend’s tavern, south of Rivendell. Erebor has softened me, for the people of Dale were not so unforgiving.” Kili swallowed back the rest of diatribe but the mood was dead for him. The fears that lurked in the shadows would push him to do mad things if he were not careful.

“I don’t think that is what bothers you. You grew to adulthood with that attitude and it didn’t affect you according to Bain.” The Dunedain told him as he turned again with a smile. “Yes, he and I have spoken of it, for he has been most sheltered. You wonder how the feelings of others will bother your wife. To that I say, it will only bother her if it bothers you. Your lady wife is strong, and so is her love.”

Swallowing back his frustration at the situation that was at once beyond his control, he took in the village as they road down the main avenue. It wasn’t a city the way he knew them, not laid out in such a fashion. There was a smithy, large with several pits and bellows that he could see. A bakery with many chimneys belching out streams of black smoke along with the mouthwatering odors of fresh bread. Children ran in the dusk to side roads that splintered into alleys of crofts and other businesses.

Ahead was a large hall of chiseled stone seated upon a rounded flat hill. The rock apart of its construction was the same color as the surrounding hills, indicating a local quarry. Its outer wall was at least eight feet high, rough planed and thick to withstand a siege if any came to call. The hall must have been here first, Kili thought as there was no evidence of activity through the open gates of the wall that surrounded it. Home of a Marshall of the Mark but unsure of which, it was an impressive expanse of for a Horse Lord, even one who bore a lesser son like Werrmund. Like Helm’s Deep, it had come first and the burg grew around it.

“The muster is coming and so too will Werrmund.” Kili reminded his friend as their pace slowed behind the wagon.

“Let us not borrow trouble, friend. We will be gone before it arrives. It will stop in Edoras for a few days then onto here. We will not see him.” Dorlad was certain of this face but Kili was concerned. Their luck had not been the best since crossing the Fords, except finding his love.

Kili counted two Inns so far and still they continued. He could make out several barns, affirming that this was a training place for young foals of the Mark that would grow into their mighty steeds. Grain silos dotted the corners of the irregular structures as if they held the shape alone with their tubular size. There had been no herds seen, not like there had been in the Westfold. Mayhap they were already stabled waiting for their evening meal. The thought of food had his stomach growling fiercely with a corresponding pain in his bladder demanding attention.

They pulled rein in a wide meadow behind an Inn close to the Aldburg Marshall. A sized house for the merchant and his people lay under the shade of bare Oak tree, with smoke already streaming from its chimney. Off to the right of it was a goodly sized barn with a leanto at one side for them to store the wagon out of the weather. An old man with his snowy sheep cut them off from the rest of the group, his crook and dog working to keep the flock together on their homebound progress. Wheezing from the smell, Kili shifted to lessen the pressure on his bladder as Bain dismounted on the other side of the fluffy mass of black faced animals. He took Isen and Flandif while Tauriel was releasing Daisy and Gilesgal from the back of the wagon. The black mare lipped at Tauriel’s cowl making her laugh with silvery glee.

The Gondorians Menelcar and the disagreeable Maring stopped not far away and dismounted. The two Men were having a discussion of unknown topic with large arm movements to punctuate the words. Maring must have said something but Kili was too far to understand the words only that he gestured in Tauriel’s direction. Kili’s hands tightened on the reins, causing Warg to fight and buck the pull on his mouth. The hot anger that begin to boil in his gut, flash froze to wintery ice as the Man strode away from his leader in her direction. Coming up behind her, he reached for the cowl with practiced disdain.

His wife was faster, so much a blur in place than a flash of lightning. Tauriel must have heard their discussion, already tense with anticipation as her hood fell to her shoulders. An unseen draw of a blade whiped out of the gray folds of her cape, arching up and down upon the offending hand. The Man cried out in surprise to jerk his arm away but he isn’t as fast as Tauriel, no where near. The descending blade made contact on Maring’s metal gauntlet, then cleaved down into the gloved hand that he hadn’t fast enough to retract. The Man howled in answer but it is drowned by Kili’s roar as he kneed Warg forward, uncaring about the sheep in his way.

Distantly, he heard Dorlad yell as if he were calling from one mountain peak to another. The furious explosion of frostbitten wrath glazed his thoughts into a crystal clarity as the pony pounded the distance that separated him from his love who spin the offender sideways by knocking in him in the jaw with the blade hilt. The vermillion swath of hair bannered in her sublime strikes to the stunned Man who tried desperately to wheel away from her onslaught. No, that should be me, Kili’s madness screamed in his head. No Man shall touch shall touch my love!

Bain yelled to Isen and pointed to Warg as he released both animals. Flandif spun on her hindquarters racing back to Tauriel with the single minded pursuit of protecting her Rider. Tauriel called to her as the brown mare veered off and loped around her in a circle. Isen was closer. He danced left then cut before the piebald, using his large red body as a break to slow the pony’s speed. Warg shrieked at the stallion swerving right but unable to check his stride, causing Kili to slide off his back to the ground. The momentum staggered him forward into Isen who bore it all with a deep grunt before trotting off to the others.

Bain held his staff in hand, staring down his friend. “No! She has this in hand. Leave off this time.”

 

Kili attempted to shove by when Dorlad rode forward, drawing his sword at the Gondorians who packed together offside with a few onlookers in stunned silence. His Elf had caught up the Man with a spectacular clench about his neck with the other arm wrapped about his head. Maring’s face was dark red, camouflaged against her tresses as Tauriel tightened her choke hold. With gritted teeth, she kicking his legs out from under him as he tried to stand. His height should be an advantage, able to push himself out of the tight grip she had around his neck. But panic made his legs as useless as his hands, he could do nothing but flail and try to catch his wind.

Menelcar was standing off to one side, watching the show with a shake of his head as he held onto Tarthalion the merchant’s coat. The shock of the fight was clear on the older Man’s face as drew forward the woman who accompanied them into his arms. Kili could see that leader of their company had tried to stop the guardian, arguing with him to no effect when they dismounted. Since Tauriel wasn’t out for blood, the Menelcar was letting her have her way. He pushed back a few Rohir who groused and pointed at his Elf, asking questions of the nature of the offense.

Just as the Maring was turning an ugly shade of purple, slumping to one side, Tauriel leaned down to whisper something in his ear. It was too low but as she finished she let go of his neck, pushing him forward down on his face. She took two steps back, to put a hand for Flandif who stopped close by. The Gondorian hadn’t passed out, his hacking and coughing were evidence that he was still awake but he was in no position to rise from his hands and knees.

Her face, at once beautiful and savage, revealed no more than a hawk’s face, which says nothing at all as the hawk glides on a wind and waits. It speaks only when it folds its wings and with talons outstretched, falls toward the dove. It was the same look she wore the first time they met in the forest, killing one spider then another with the simple elegance of her race. The economy of the fight wasted no energy, each attack was to a purpose. She had been elemental, driven and singularly the most amazing thing he had ever witnessed. Time would not change that, he knew as she wrenched off her gloves, striding towards him with her mount trailing behind.

Kili waited for her to approach, not wishing to impede her or distract if Maring should rise from his coughing fit. Bain had the right of it, she had it in hand and knew her business as well as he though his hand itched to sever the Man’s head from his body. His wife walked was quick as any, yet those eyes were completely on him, easing back from the killing edge with each footfall. Tauriel stepped into him, stroking her long fingers along his cheekbones as she rubbed her forehead to his. His arms wound her body, pulling her closer than thought and still not close enough.

He wanted such petting, her hands upon his body the ever present reminder that she was his. Their breaths mingled together as her lips brushed his check as hands clinched at his shoulders. The succor it offered was never fleeting, making Kili hungry for more of the same. The heat of her gaze melted the gelidity of his thoughts, relaxing him from exacting the carnage his body ached to expound. A simple touch, her warm lips was all that would be needed in his life.

“My gods! An Elf! My lady, I knew not..Maring should never…” Tarthalion’s voice sundered the quiet he found in her arms, tossing him back into the maelstrom.

Pulling from the comforting circle of her arms, Kili took a stance before her as she laid a hand at braids by his ear, a reminder of their bond. Trying to calm the tempest inside the pit of soul, he ground out the words at the Man. “Maring should never attempt to touch that which he has no claim. Tauriel is my wife and not subject to his whims.”

The merchant bumbled and fell over himself, in at once pleading in apology. “I agree, master Dwarf. I most heartedly agree. Please, I will cover the cost of your room tonight and I beg your apology for the offense! You shall want for nothing this night!”

“And Maring?”

Tauriel’s posture was rigid as she spoke, angered as he was. The deep burning sensation of her ire flamed higher when Tarthalion looked over to the guardian as he struggled to keep his feet under him. The carved flap of the ruined glove dripped darkest red to the hungry dirt below that he didn’t try to bind. Cutting his wind had left him wobbly as a new born foal. It mattered little to Kili who would still appreciate taking him to task for his churlish behavior. The hands would make a nice repayment. _To start_.

“He will be dealt with, my lady.” There was quick nodding on the merchant’s behalf and even his lady behind looked at Maring with disgust. “Please.” He led them to the back door of the Inn as Tauriel replaced her hood.

Kili turned back to Dorlad and Bain who waved him off with assurances that they would tend the horses and be in for food in a while. Tauriel’s slender fingers wiggled into the gambeson he wore searching for his skin and a closer feel. He rolled his head and shoulders for her to find a seam where they might delve for her pleasure. Concentration was lost at contact when her rounded nails scratched the sensitive flesh at his nap with dexterous sweeps. The hot rush of want prickled down his spine conflicting with the receding anger and desire to swim in the blood of the idiot, Maring. Other urges shrilled in his brain with increasing clamor until he was fair quaking with unsteady energy.

Tarthalion spoke quickly with the owner as they walked back from the public room, gesticulating broadly to the pair as he handed over several coins of large value if Kili might judge it correctly. The noise of a packed tavern behind the Men, agitated him for if there were threats to his love, he could not see them. Bawdy songs in off key Rohirric crunched his thinking despite his Elf’s wondering fingertips. Kili wanted away, far from here where Tauriel would be safe from the views of others.

The merchants took a several keys from the Keeper, pocketing some and holding another still in his hand. There was a final interchange before he nodded a farewell and joined them. “This is the suite at the stop of the stairs at the end. The bathing closet is next door and he will send fresh water up soon and knock on your door when complete. There are few borders tonight but they are at the front of the hall and shall not disturb you.” Tarthalion handed Kili the hard iron key with a leather thong tied though the post. “Master Dwarf, if you and your lady wife consent to continue with us, there shall be no further incidents. If you do not, I will understand. I will take my leave of you now. May you both enjoy your respite.”

The merchant bowed deeply to them and took his leave when Tauriel laid a hand upon her chest. It was her way, he knew but Kili would rather not make friends with a Man who would hire an uncontrollable guardian. The Man was clearing argumentative with Menelcar and the overall conflict between the two was most visible. Maring whatever his placement with House Artamirian cared little if his attitude reflected badly on the House.  

They took to the room quickly, fair running up the stairs, tearing into cloth before the door was properly shut. Gasps and moans sounded in the room as they came together in rash congress and bestial furor. The tremors of unspent feeling raced along his skin as they blended into each other with erratic attention. She skimmed her hands across the muscular smoothness of his back, his shoulders, as lips sought the other in a passionate embrace. Kili took her mouth in a rough, carnal kiss that left nothing to the imagination. The fever pitched cauldron of anger, frustration, love, and desire boiled over, seeking the truth of her safety in elementary degrees.

The first release against the door wasn’t enough only powering into the second with Elven legs clutching him tighter as he bore her across the room and gently taking her to a third peak upon snowy sheets. Kili lovingly held and touched her, stroking the heated flesh and lay a kiss where he wanted. There lay his One that had met his ardor with her own and left him panting. It was a basic assertion of their life, a testimony that she lived and he lived for her. The flame of their love was unyielding, burning bright from the mantle of her soul to its brother in the pap of his own. The scalding pressure battered his fears, sweeping away his worries. They were one heart, one mind, one love.

Lying his face into the crook of her neck, Kili threaded his fingers through hers in a tight grip. Fine boned fingers, five instruments of deadly skill that cradled his heart most tenderly. “It isn’t in my nature to ask you to be less than you are but please know, I would fight your battles, Amralime.”

Tauriel released him, pushing Kili to his back so that she would drape his body with her own. “This I know, my husband.” Plowing her fingers into his hair, she kissed him gently. “I wish no more battles for us. I am your wife, your mate. I want to love you as you love me, to feel you inside me and be one with you. I want to bear as many children as the Valar give us, to touch you as often as I wish no matter who sees, and to feel you quicken in my grasp. I need you... most desperately.”

Kili pulled her tightly against, kissing her breathless one last time with rough hands gliding on silky skin. The fundamental truth could not be refuted. They were as their makers designed, Dwarf and Elf, neither as good nor as evil as others might paint the pair. What they were didn't change truly how they felt, only how free they were to follow those feelings. It was a freedom in shaved slices, with bitter edges and sweet cores. Married days only and bands of opposition were emerging at each corner with angry confusion of why an Elf would marry a Dwarf.

Holding Tauriel close, her breath on his neck, Kili relinquished his grasp on the world and drifted away to slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I personally think mother nature is funny and I cite the Kangaroo and the platypus (think about the plural of platypus…hehehe) as my examples of Mother Nature on PMS…But Goethe disagrees and more people like his writing over mine lol.  
> This chapter together with the Erebor segment ran very long so the disturbing chapters got pushed back a little. (Thank God!)
> 
> ****Tauriel whispered to Maring, “Be glad it is I and not my husband. His rage is colder than mine.”
> 
> Menelcar – Sindarian for Skyhelm  
> Nimgond – Sinda for White stone.  
> Maring – Sindarin for cold house  
> Artamir was a King of Gondor. Upon his death & his brother Faramir dead, the title of King would have passed to Aranarth son of his sister Firiel. But the council of Gondor chose another.


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh-oh, yes I'm the great pretender  
>  Pretending that I'm doing well  
>  My need is such I pretend too much  
>  I'm lonely but no one can tell
> 
> ~The Platters - The Great Pretender ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok.. WARNING WARNING.  
> The second part of this is bad.. blood licking on sharp objects, Orcs, non graphic sex, marital rape, loss of virginity and bad feelings about it.   
> READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

_The next day at Erebor_

The Throne room was packed for the King’s audience day. Dwarrows and their ‘dams crowded into the space beyond the named columns as petitioner and subject came before the Throne of Erebor. The worried, anxious expressions blazed forth when normally obscured by beards and braids. Olrun knew that there had been rumors circulating recently that the Iron Hills was no longer trading with Erebor, that there were disputes between Fili and Dain. The Ravens had grounded themselves of late due to the cold as the official reason, or they knew more than they told the King. Yesterday, a caravan had arrived back to Erebor stating they had been turned away from the Iron Gates by armed sentries aback Abkarul Hakhd in full serrated armor. Fili understandably wasn’t pleased and his people were nervous.

Olrun stood at the back a group of ‘emissaries’ from the Water Chamber, as she had come to think of them. The Princess Dis had installed a divan at the bottom of the throne steps, removing herself from the Throne entirely. It had caused a stir when it was seen that she would do thus, leaving only the Athane’s seat at the Thane’s right hand. The reasoning was there should be just the King and Queen on the dais steps and she with the other Dwarrowdams would take a placement at the bottom with the other Dwarves. Sigrid had fought her on this to no avail, Dis couldn’t see that it looked to the Kingdom that she abandoned her son, that she disapproved of him in some way. It was the worst timing, especially now with the issues with Dain.

The Iron Hills ‘dam stood behind the Princess, shouldered next to Ladies Eir, Thrud and Silinde of Dale. The Lady Thrud daughter of Tindri was not a regular in the Water Chamber, understanding that her place was on probation thanks to the perfidious Herja. She spent her time of late in the Princess’ company or looking in the progress of the tapestries the Dale residents were constructing for the Queen. Willa, a gossip of the first order though would deny it to the stars, mentioned that the Lady Thrud had been seen in Dale with a certain Captain. A rumor abounded there that she was seen in a very heated clutch with him in a corner, sitting on a wobbly barrel at the time of all things. Olrun snuck a look at the very bored expression on Thrud’s face, trying and failing to imagine her being lewd in public.

The Strawberry Blond caught the happy glint in Silinde’s eye and rolled her eyes in merriment. The young lady of Dale was such fun, with a high infectious laughter. Her vernal attitude warmly livened up their bleak wintery evenings. While Olrun thought herself competent with a needle, Silinde was a true master. Her current project was taking the some of the moth eaten bolts of cloth that had been recovered and reusing as much of the fabric as could be salvaged. The darker ones had been made into baby clothes and blankets with the geometric runes of Erebor stitched in white for newborn babies of Erebor as a special gift from the ruling family. Silinde had made the suggestion that with a cold winter upon them, any help from the Mountain to the residents of Dale would be appreciated. It gave Sigrid the idea of taking the crap bins from the Tailor’s hall and making them into quilts as well.

Public opinion had definitely sung heavily in the Queen’s favor with no blowback from the titillating scandal of the Dwarf Hobbit debacle that the public knew. Whether it was the Princess working behind the scenes for the Athane or just the blond daughter of Man’s general good will, none of the Queen’s first circle could say. The distribution of herself in the days after the party bolstered public opinion in a larger degree, and for the first time, the Dowagers had left their seclusion and visited the Queen in the Water Chamber. Many had walked the walls, running aged hands over runes that had been only locked away in their memory. Some had wiped away tears at the nostalgia of Erebor’s glory days.

Facing forward once again, Olrun could see their compatriot clearly, a head and shoulders above those closest to her. Willa Wheat would have been noticeable despite her size in comparison to the Dwarves around her thanks to a dress of layered orange and red that trussed her up most effectively. The specific grousing from the erstwhile healer advised any who would listen was that if she were to live in a mountain and not bed down with her intended each night, then she would array herself in any manner that gave her warmth. With her segregation from Oin taking its toll on everyone’s nerves, many tried to overlook her tense expressions and unsatisfied silences, the clothes were a different story. Sigrid finally advised her after an unfortunate mixing of dingy gray and poisonous green to approach the King to have their marriage date escalated. They all missed her blunt humor and were not fond of her blunt frustration.

Olrun leaned into Dis’ ear. “They come, Princess.”

The barest nod acknowledged the Dwarrowdam as happy excitement stole through the feminine group. They had come to extend Willa their support when she and Oin made their request. Sigrid was in seclusion today in the Water Chamber with her sons, Verdandi and Skuld for company. Vigdis was still keeping the crown prince at a distance, hoping that he would forget her. She and her father Olgr were working the sounder today, allowing Verdandi some time away. When Thorin Stonehelm left, he took Balfor with him as well, calling upon the Dwarf’s oath to the Iron Hills. They were in the process of training a stripling or young Dwarf who had the mindset for it to do more than just clean their enclosure. So far it had mixed results for the Erebor Dwarrows were used to ponies not pigs.

Court life for a Queen of Erebor, however, was a stultifying routine, Olrun found. Now that it was openly acknowledged that there was a secondary court operating in Erebor, Sigrid found that she was expected to be more than a decorative asset to her husband, the mother of his heirs and the arbiter of good taste and modesty. The Queen would see people who requested an audience, giving her opinions and counseling others if they were of any particular need. It was most informal so far, nothing written or laid with statues but a kind of understanding that the Queen was another ear only and not the Mountain’s final decision. The politicals of any situation could not be overlooked, giving Olrun purpose of rooting out causes where before she awaited Dwalin and their courting.

Olrun gave Willa a smile as the tall blond cocked her head with a grin of her own. Her shorter intended was still not to be seen as yet, moving himself against the Dwarven current. Burin was with them, his dark head could be seen jostling in their wake. When just the Iron Hills ‘dam began to see the twisted gray knot atop Oin’s head, the door wardens boomed a warning of impending arrival.

Dis jerked before her, straining her neck to try for a better view and still remain seated. “What does on here? There were no diplomats in the Lonely Mountain and Bard is not to arrive until tomorrow.”

“I can’t quite see. Silinde, what is your view?” Olrun almost turned to the taller girl when she caught sight of the very recognizable Iron Hills helm bouncing a head taller than the milling crowd. A frozen spike of fear lanced her body when she recognized the Dwarf in the lead.

Her nephew, Vigg.

She murmured the name aloud, unseeing Dis swivel her head about in shock. There was never a plan for him to come to Erebor after they arrived, much less bring Iron Dwarves with him. Vigg had wanted to stay a pay proper court to a daughter of a weapon’s trader he fancied, increasing his standing with Linnar and by extension Dain. Olrun had never told him what she thought of that idea, of how Dain would think of her nephew if the Ironfoot uncovered her plans of running to the arms of another Dwarf.

Vigg approached the throne, bowing with the two Iron Hills Dwarves at his back. He wore no more than a simple jerkin, tunic and pants, learning from his predecessor how to approach a King. The ostentatious Zigal son of Zar was in disgrace currently, so another was chosen to this parley. Sending a blood relation, Dain thought to sway her feelings or at least accentuate a reminder. The Dwarves who came with her brother’s son, she knew at a distance only. Heavy browed and shaved pates beneath those battle helms, they were part of Dain’s personal guard that was responsible for the first family of his hall. Their presence was to ensure that Vigg returned, not defect like his family. They would not fail as the Stonehelm had, their protected person would return.

“Fili, King under the Mountain, I am Vigg son of Olgr. Special envoy from the Iron Court of Dain II son of Nain son of Gror.”

His speech was correct, she reasoned, as was his posture. Vigg bowed with fluidity that spoke of long practice, no doubt he still did it before the shined glass at home to correct any defects. He wore no helm as a warrior might but he was not of that class. Vigg’s chin braid bore a scholar’s weave with the corresponding stamp upon the clasp. Dain had never fancied his scholars, saying privately that they spoke with oiled tongues and their words dripped sweetened malice. Olrun took it to mean that they insulted him freely without his knowledge, puzzling out their conjectures after they had gone.

His head was low. An odd assortment of braids laced the crown of dark brown head, signifying rank and merit but his family braids ended in blanked steel bands rather than the chained war hammer crest, signifying the Line of Tarag. Vigg looked down the open space to the first step of the dais not far from where Ori the scribe scribbled notes on reams of paper that would be bound in a book once the ink dried. The Dwarves at his back were travel stained and probably smelly. And armed with wickedly curved axes.

“We recognize you, Vigg son of Olgr, and bid you welcome.” Balin’s officiousness boomed the hall to the ceiling, permitting her nephew to rise at level to address the Throne.

The loud clang of metal rebated in the cavernous hall with Dwalin and six of his Elite marching into view to cause the echo. Her love was dressed in black leather as was his wont with the heavy plated boots that stomped the carved floor. His men’s raiments matched his own, carrying swords instead of the large double headed axes their captain bore. His eyes scanned the Dwarves from the Iron Hills to take their measure, then the room. The two Dwarrows sneered at him to be so dismissed as he bowed his head to Fili. Dwalin’s eyes sought hers as he rose, giving her a twitch of a smile.

“Thanu Min, I came on an errand of hope. My family is being held under the Mountain on charges I know not why. My lord Dain humbly requests that his kith and kin be released to travel back to the halls of their fathers.” There was pinched hack at Vigg’s mouth as if the words were not his own and he possessed little enjoyment of them. Olrun knew in a moment that he was Dain’s mouthpiece and served no other function.

“I hold no Iron Hills Dwarves against their will, laddie. The Broadbeams that have come are here by invitation, they are free to go where they will.” Fili spoke before Balin had the opportunity, his thumb fingering his ever present axe handle. “Look you where your family stands free in my Throne Room. There stands your aunt, Olrun daughter Tarag with courting braids in her hair. Does she look cloistered away?”

Vigg didn’t look to her, not once, addressing the King in solemnity. “She has been beguiled, Thanu Men. My Aunt knows she may not make a claim without the permission of our Lord Ironfoot.”

This was wrong, something was wrong. Lady Eir’s hand reached out to take Olrun in silent support, helping her to keep from screaming a denial before the court. Vigg’s whole demeanor was foreign to her, relentless closed as if he were offended not cajoling her release. He was a stranger wearing a familiar face of someone she once loved. He was flesh and blood of her line but she knew him not if he spoke true feeling. He had never agreed with Dain’s treatment of her, not when he had been made to see. There were thousands of things Vigg might have said to the King at this moment rather than the ugly truth of her position in Dain’s court. It was degrading to have her own acknowledged blood announce to the Kingdom under the Mountain that she was Dain’s creature, that the Ironfoot had a claim upon her person.

Fili gritted his teeth but kept his temper. The perversion of their customs hit him the hardest, especially in light of Vigdis and Skuld’s continued presence and either Dwarrowdam’s hopeful future. “It is he who has been beguiled. Any Dwarrowdam might attempt a claim as she has.” Leaning forward, he articulated each word. “You should know our laws if you venture out into Middle Earth, if you are an envoy of anything.”

The two Dwarves who stood behind Vigg prickled at the accusation against their lord as Dwalin growled at her nephew. Their grips tightened in defiance upon their weapons with the clear wish of taking a swing at any who disparaged the Ironfoot in the Dwarves’ presence. Fools, marble headed fools, Olrun thought as she fought back tears of betrayal when the guards at Dwalin’s back began to stamp their axe hilts in response. War would come to the Mountain and it would come soon, already the enmity grew with each insult.

“With permission, I would speak with my Aunt.” Vigg bowed before the throne as a true supplicant might, his face a work of stone. His braids continued to worry her, might he have cast off his relations for ambition?

“Before you leave, what of your family? Your father and mother, your sister?” Fili’s tone was idle, even his posture said he cared not one way or the other for the answer. Olrun’s head swung from one to other all the while her breathing accelerated.

The Lady Thrud leaned into her slowly, inching by torturous inch. Steady, she whispered at the corner of her mouth. Many eyes were upon her now, confused and some calculating. The hot rumor later this night would be of her chastity, why would her _cousin_ feel he had the right of claim? A ruling Dwarf would not chase a Dwarrowdam in such a manner unless he had taken some offer and liked what he tasted. Loose lips would fair be wagging with this ondit: Oh yes, this decadent ‘dam from the Iron Hills why wasn’t it her idea to come along with unclaimed Dwarrows to Erebor? Was her sow the only thing she rode on that long trip? The more Olrun surmised, the wilder the gossip in her mind became, fueling her anger as a burning flush crept up her neck to her cheek.

He looked truly confused as if Westron was a new language for him. “My King?”

Focusing away from her thoughts, Olrun saw Vigg mentally stumble and try to anticipate Thane Fili. He had separated himself by a pace from the guards and his body line was quite visible. She saw him flex his fingers once for what she might assume to be nerves yet he had never possessed that affliction. Vigg had a steady bent in situations where others would have folded. The braids clanked together as his shoulders twitched his head in a sudden jerk.

“I find it odd that you latch upon your Aunt with no thought to your parents or their condition, young Vigg. Most strange.” Thane Fili relaxed his poise to stroke his beard, on confusion. But he wasn’t deceived, not all, only adjusting the conversation for a specific result.

Her nephew was young with some experience but his normal flattery was of no use here. “They are not here that I can see, Thanu Min. My Aunt is just there as you pointed out.” He turned to her now and tried to catch her eye though she angled herself away completely.

Whatever his game, she would not be his pigeon. The open remark of Dain’s edit here at the Lonely Mountain shamed her to the bone. Olrun found she cared little for the rest of it as Vigg had done his worst. Looking to Willa, she could feel a smile inside as her cousin’s face bore all the subtly of thundercloud. The tall woman leaned forward and back to whisper to Oin and possibly Burin, then look in their direction with a grave mein.

“Think you it is not in my province to summon Lady Verdandi and Master Olgr for a happy reunion with their son?” The smile on the King’s face was razor sharp as he tugged the end of his leather vest and stretch out a leg. “I am not one to keep a family parted.”

It was a mouse game with the Thane as the recognizable cat. He sat back on this throne, staring at Vigg and awaiting his answer. The King wanted Vigg to admit his folly, that he wasn’t here about his family save Olrun and pressing her to return to the Iron Hills. Vigg loved all of his family, once, but a messenger has not the luxury choosing a side in a conflict, only delivery of certain information.

Olrun looked to Balin, as the ladies pressed ever closer. The chancellor felt the weight of her stare, as he took a step forward. The whitehaired Dwarrow’s gaze moved the slightest bit but he said nothing. This would go on and on and nothing would be accomplished. Fili would keep pushing at Vigg who faint into a stance of ignorance, dogging away from the questions that he had not the skill yet to deflect.

Squeezing the redhead’s hands, Olrun whispered into Eir’s ear. “Please find my brother, Olgr!”

Stepping out of the pocket behind Dis, the strawberry blond bowed before the throne. “I am here, Thanu Min. With your permission, I ask to speak with my brother’s son and hopefully dispel his confusion at the current situation.”

She kept her head low as was proper, a trait of long habit that she had developed in the Iron Court. Dain had loved seeing her subservient, the gleam in his eye sang that song often. It is the curse of kings, that they can and do become monsters. Appearing to be less than she was had saved her from the beginning, her enemies had been few and largely overlooked her. Days like today, she almost missed those small intrigues.

“If it be your will, my lady.” Fili’s voice startled her but she rose to stretch an elegant hand to her blood.

Dwalin caught her eye before Vigg stepped to her. He wasn’t pleased by the look, gripping his axe handles tightly and white lipped look of anger as she took her nephew’s arm. As she turned, Olrun saw Eir and Burin hurrying away for both Olgr and possibly Verdandi to help untangle this situation. Both would be a gift of Mahal but she would settle for one or the other.

“Wait!” Fili’s voice shattered the room. “The Iron Dwarves stay in the Throne Room.” Fili was leaning on his knees as he stared at the Dwarves who had thought follow them. “Guards! Why don’t you stand just there and talk about your travels.”

The Dwarves looked to protest at this, observing at their King then to their prize. They two were of one mind, staring with deliberate slowness at them then around the room. It couldn’t be more plain than the beard at her jaw that if they went along for the discussion, she might be taken by force if possible. The grappling eagerness in their wide eyes and restless legs peeved her to fast for the fear to show. They come to the Lonely Mountain and dare to ignore their King before them? Each moment they deliberated cost them respect and they knew it not.

It took Vigg, motioning them away for them to follow the guards and then a momentary hard look. Fili was snarling at them in retaliation for the Iron Dwarves slow response to his command. Sending their heads back in salt would be a good message for Dain to stand down rather than calling on the common kin in the Stiffbeards.

“Come.” Olrun lead him from the chamber, nodding to the Princess whose pinched worry was plain on her face. Leading Vigg away, she could understand the worry for it ate at her too.

The balony of Erebor was a pretty thing, built along the same grandiose lines as the interior. Hard packed stone was still the same as when she and Dwalin had been here last the night of the party. Memories and words, if she were not careful that would be all she would have instead of her One. Staring out to the sun drenched meadows, she could see gentle knolls with adults and children chasing the other below as clouds chased each other in the sky. Olrun loved this place, loved everything about it. Breathing deep her freedom, she knew that it had come at cost to some and a risk to others. But they had all known and agreed, now it seemed that one had changed his mind.

“I had not thought to see you until my wedding. What is this ruse that has us out here when I could be inside staring at my love, dressed in fine leather?” She would forgo all the flippancy of trivial hellos. At this point, she doubted Vigg’s sincerity and whatever else he spouted.

Her words were distasteful to him, it was obvious in his turned lip that his braided mustache couldn’t hide. Vigg had ambition, as any Dwarf might but he had been a fool to stay and now he knew it. The status he had in the court had been on peripheral to her own, now defunct thanks to her defection. He made no mention of his betrothed or the status of the arrangement, Olrun could only assume the worst if he was here with this attitude.

“The strong rule, Aunt. Those who are not strong, dream of it." Vigg sighed as he shook large head amassed in braids, the beads clinking together. "Thane Fili isnt strong enough to stop the Ironfoot this time. You have miscalculated Dain, so you must come home and make it right."

“Brother son, the only way that will happen is if I go back and take the consort’s veil. You must know this. Nothing else will turn the Ironfoot’s mind at this juncture.” She kept her voice mild, calming herself out of habit so as not to say more than was needed. He knew the truth of her words but his lack of faith in King Fili was disturbing. “The Thane is stronger than you know and he is a good Dwarf besides.”

There had not been any rumor of _him_ chasing a cousin or having any real indecencies. Left hand companions were overlooked to a large degree if it didn’t interfere with chores or security of the nation. The King loved his wife completely, showering her with affection wherever they met, what had passed between him and others before Sigrid bore no consequence.

“You were consort in all but deed. It shouldn’t be so hard to commit to Dain. You must beg prettily enough so that he has no reason to doubt your sincerity.” Olrun heard nothing else from him as he continued on, the great buzzing in her ears blocked the sound of the day.

Olrun blew out her anger as she slapped her nephew hard across the face. Vigg reeled from the blow, cupping his face in shock that she might do so to him. The pompous brat deserved it and still more if he thought she would pack and leave. Boldly, the 'dam stalked the Dwarf the length of the balcony, vibrating in perfect rage. The few guards that stood at attention didn’t interfere but held the two in close view. Olrun cared little at the moment, angered beyond belief that her nephew could be so thoughtless and ask this thing of her. He knew, had known all of his life that she loved another!

Dwalin stepped from the entrance, blocking Vigg’s retreat. The burning rage buzzed from him but her Dwarf didn't reach for Vigg, only watched with ill concealed hate. She knew as soon as she left that he wouldn’t be far, not with Iron Dwarves running the mountain.   The resentment on his face was passive compared to the hot bristle that scrapped the familial feelings the Dwarrowdam held close to her heart. Reaching beyond her nephew, Olrun pulled a knife that Dwalin kept at the ready.

But those selfsame ideals were the ones that loved Dwalin further than the greatest disaster that might have despaired the world. Staring at the blade, she controlled her wroth and put into words for her nephew to understand. “You are blood of mine, nephew, but know this and hear me well. I am not faithless for I have claimed a Dwarrow that I have loved since before your maturing and he has loved me in the same light. What the Ironfoot wants isn’t love, it’s the greedy possession of another.” She held the blade up to him so that he could see its keen edge. “I would cut my heart out for the Crebain to eat before I would turn my back on Dwalin, on love, for base defilement of our customs.”

“No, you have turned your back on your family.” Vigg bowed to her mockingly. “I wish you joy in your love, while the ones who remained behind have suffered for your wants.”

He walked away, never seeing her tears, at what she was reduced to thanks to his jeering. A child who had been the only son of her brother, cossetted and loved from birth. Doting parents and older sister together with a loving Aunt had provided him with ever heart’s wish before it was uttered. His apprenticeship with Zigal had taken Olrun long days of persuading and flattering the atrocious little tyrant as well as several casks of good Elven wine.

Dwalin walked behind her and took her in his arms. He cared not for propriety and neither did she anymore. Olrun simply leaned back into his solid embrace. He had heard and seen their exchange, each attack and fighting turn of phrase. She would have told him all as well as the whys of it all. She was glad of it too for she would need him there when her family learned of Vigg and help her explain his new ideas. Olgr would not believe her, it would be hard for him to know that his loving son had taken Dain’s part for truth. Verdandi and Vigdis would be destroyed.

Vigg could not grasp the ideal of love, and needing the object of it. The only kind of love she had to offer was stupid and blind and so deep and powerful that she felt like her seams were straining just to hold it in. It kept growing inside, swelling each day with his smallest smiles and quiet loving words. Olrun would never love him in pieces, no relationship with Dwalin might work in that regard. She didn’t force him to move, didn’t attempt to turn and take her love into her arms. She curled her fingers into the fuzzy ring of hair at his nap, holding him there. Olrun knew without being told, her strong Dwarrow would shelter her there in his arms until the world stopped spinning.

_****************_

_On the road to Isenguard that night_

The pony treaded lightly over the rocks as the dusk took hold of the world. She wouldn’t not press him faster, there were still miles to go. He was a solid mount, good for pulling a plow in the uneven fields around the Long Lake. His former owners has two other animals and didn’t mind parting another mouth to feed for the sturdy boat in the trade. The saddle had cost her a few silvers but necessary since it wasn’t a nag she had bought.

The voice in the darkness had not led her astray so far, the only thing she had to be grateful. It had been there the morning after her ‘wedding night’, singing sweetly in her ear as she cried for her lost honor. She had not understood the pain at the joining nor the blood on the sheets after, what could it mean if she had already defiled Stoor hobbits? It was the soft coo of a dove in her ear when her husband parted her legs for more intercourse, the sweetness of the voice distracting her from the slapping of flesh upon flesh. The pain was there but dulled, cast aside as she desperately reached for a glint of something that would take her from the reality of her situation. When her husband spent atop her, rolling away, the voice soothed her ragged feelings and helped her put her life in perspective.

She had not lost her maiden’s patent until now. She had been pure when she had protested her innocence before her King no matter the evidence that was arrayed against her. It had been a plot to send her away, far away. Her enemies had struck hard at a vulnerability and exploited it thoroughly. It was a ploy she had never expected to be arranged by her fellows. The Laketown slut, yes, she could see her deviousness there. The Dwarrowdam had been drugged by one she had thought a naïve twit, losing control of the game that she herself had started. The whisperings told her things of her enemies, gave her ideas on her revenge. But it couldn’t be done now, no she must wait and find their vulnerability. If you cannot win at first, take revenge if it is the last thing you do.

The unseen mutters were a balm to her as she and her new husband and his companion boarded the small boat for the Gladden Fields, leaving behind Dale and the hideous snickering from some of the passersby. The gossips in their painted faces and loose morals laughed at her, pointing to her rickety gate as if her husband could be the reason her step was addled. The voice streamed confidence into her spine when before she had none, helping the female hold her head high when all she wanted was hide from her shame at being marriedly used.

The first day had them paddling on the Anduin for her husband’s home in Gladden Fields, with the voice giving her advices all the while, good ideas on how to handle the males she was trapped with. When the night fell, they took to the shore. Following the repeated instructions, she allowed her husband his rights to her body after their meal, spreading her legs like a crass hussy. She cared not if his friend watched their joining, for truth, her husband was more vigorous with an audience. At the last when Stoor released atop her, she looked to his friend across the fire and winked. It startled her husband’s hobbit friend, making his eyes wide as he looked down the length of their bodies and how they fit together.

Her husband rolled away, allowing the second beard between her legs to be in view of his friend like a trollop might in a back alley. And the other Stoor watched, too. Neither her husband nor his friend’s regard for her was a real concern, her plans were in stone now and she would see them through. Getting to her feet not bothering to dress, she walked around her snoring husband to wash at the riverside as well as wait for his friend. At the end of their coupling, the other hobbit’s hand had been rubbing his trouser front, manipulating the bulge behind the material. He would take her nudity as an invitation the whisper in the dark told her, then she could kill him.

It was so very easy to commit murder, to slice the hobbit’s throat open while pawing at her breasts and do the same for her sleeping husband. The poor Hobbits never knew, never understood that she was removed from it. The killing left her detached and a single purpose to follow where the whisper upon the wind took her. She would take her revenge upon those her had brought her low and her ambition for power would take her still further. Her life was just beginning and it would a life worthy of a Queen.

She had been so careful, taking the boat to trade, riding south as commanded. She felt eyes on her body from the woods to her left. Elves, she sneered as she pressed the pony on, wanting away from their thin bodies and their intensity. She slept in spurts, mostly during the day to travel at dusk and early mornings. The whisper urged her on, giving ideas when it was useful and praise in stingy increments. Once she had passed Lorien and the glades of Fangorn, the female truly relaxed for her journey’s need was near. The black tower rose in the distance, her salvation and future in harmony.

Taking a moment to relieve herself and allow the pony to graze some, she gasped when two Orcs stepped from the shadows. Their heads swerved side to side like a predator judging the prey, anticipating if she might grab her mount to race away. The urge was there, lurking like the grey monsters whom she had been told all of her life would love to kill of her for being a Dwarf.

“My master says to meet you, that you carry something of value.” The spire of Isenguard rose in the background, trying to grasp the sky and pull it down for the mortals.

 _Trust them, serve me_ …

No, she wouldn’t do that, never trust them as far as she could toss them. They were Orcs and would smell her fear if she allowed it to go too far. “I do. So that means I will arrive unspoiled, yes?”

Their bulbous heads swiveled on their shoulders as they hunched forward to her. The Dwarrowdam held her ground, staring at them with a hard look of disgust. Better that they learn their place now, then risk having to train them too it. The long knife she had brought on the long road was warm against her leg, fair singing to be drawn and taste the dead flesh of an Orc.

The smaller of the two, a wretched thing with a long hooked beak of a mean crow, pulled a clear vial that contained an inky liquid. Her stomach rebelled as she watched. “My master bade me give you this to drink. Drink before you take a step further.”

The female shifted her body as she deliberated, having momentary doubts. If she drank the vial filled with whatever slimed its depths, she would be bound to this and nothing else. But she was already bound, she realized as she wrenched the stoppered bottle from the atrocity in sagging skin. The female drank it quickly, never thinking beyond her desire for revenge because for her, there was nothing else. The glass dropped to the inert ground, let go by nerveless fingers. The icy liquid scurried, ratlike as she moaned the sensation of it in her furnace hot body.

The Orcs began to snicker as the evil mangled her thoughts and polluted her feelings. The howls took a warg’s tone as she ran her hands over her body, chasing the blight that fed on her negativity for more traction at her soul’s foundation.

“Likes it she does!” The smaller one gasped to his mate watching the Mordor venom infect the honey amber eyes and rot them to shadowed black. “We’ll get good soon, poke her nethers right hard until she screams for it.”

The Orc’s speech punctured through the consumptive film covering her thoughts to give birth to her new conscience. The smaller Orc crept closer, running taloned hand over the aching swells of her breasts. Her body shivered with natal energy to espouse a fledgling demand to serve the Great One far to the east and pay her due homage with blood. The knife she drew was good Dwarf steel, sharp enough to cut away the few scruples she possessed. The long blade gasped from the scabbard or it was the last breath of the Orc as she sliced off first the offending hand that touched her then stabbed in him the throat.

“You are unworthy for one such as me, but your blood shall be my sacrifice.” Leaning down, the female picked up the head to hold it aloft in the hushed night. “Great lord, take this blood as my offering, a sign of my desire to do your will upon this Middle Earth. This death I dedicate to you, he who has elevated me from misery.”

_So very strong, Second-Born, you shall be the first. The Ashan, Mother to a new race! Your descendants will be legion. A great host to crush your enemies and cut down their progeny until nothing remains of their line. They will be your revenge._

Yes, she whispered to herself, yes.  

Swinging the long blade up to the other larger Orc until the point scraped his jugular, she asked. “Whom do you serve?”

He dropped to his knees before, ignoring the crunch of his fallen comrade beside them. “My master in Orthanc serves the One. But I will be your snaga if it pleases you, great one.” He bowed his head in subservience but the lust in his eyes was palpable as he stared at her beneath the boned ridge of his brow.

Newly named as a servant, she could feel the insidious blackness oiling its track through her body. Controlling the intense sexual frustration that pounded into her loins, the female flicked the blade against his neck until he flinched. “Why would I want a snaga who bears no loyalty? You leave your master for me, so you will leave me for another. You are faithless and of no use to my service.”

The Orc grabbed her hand that held the knife, pushing it until it broke the skin. Black blood welled from the cuts in delicate drips to run down his pebbled gray skin. Holding her hand still, a long black tongue whipped from a darker cavern of his rotting mouth to lick the edge clean of not only his own blood but that of his companion. The thick rot oozed from his mouth as the moist prehensile muscle shot forward for a pass again and again across the steel. The yellowed eyes never left hers, sliding the flat of the meat up the knife’s edge.

“I will walk in your shadow and sleep at your feet. This wretch of an Orc will be your dog until you release me, I swear before the Great Eye and on my blood.” He rasped, the fetid breath wavered to her on the night breeze.

She must have him, the ‘dam thought, tearing the clothing from herself in hasty jerks. Standing nude in the cold air, gooseflesh puckered her skin as her chest hair ruffled over her hard nipples. Dwarrowdams could and would be just as furry as the males. The course black mane covered her body, with only a few bared spots at her belly until it exploded into her second beard. The arousal was harsh … She could no longer hold back the need for completion to cement the bond to her lord and give her flesh to him utterly. The female leaned into the Orc, her dark facial hair brushing him as her lips reached the corner of his jaw. A thickly stubbed finger toyed with the iron loops along the outer edge of a sharply pointed ear. _So like an Elf’s_ …

Wrenching away at the long dead reminder of her other life, she pulled his hairless face into her breast. The sensuousness of the moment was stimulating, heating her blood as the potion chilled it. “Come, my snaga. You will plow me tonight and fill me with your seed. A new race will take root and grow strong from Orc stems in Dwarven soil. My Lord will harvest a virile crop and my milk will nourish them as will my hate. Come!”

He stroked her skin, exciting her where the Hobbit failed as she manhandled the Orc into a position of her choosing. Pushing him over, she rolled him onto his back to begin yanking away his loincloth. The act she was committing was anathema to her upbringing, everything she had known in her previous life. The abomination of it excited her further for if she was damned in this world, then she would be truly damned. Their mating was little less than a vulgar rut of two beasts, a union of fouled nature before the dark of the moon. The hissing of the Orc combined with the whining snarls of the Dwarrowdam as the life of the forest shrank away in terror for what fell beast might spring from this joining. A new monster would be unleashed, something that should never have come to pass nor walk under the sun.

At the end of their consummation when the pinnacle was reached, the Dwarrowdam rose from her Orc slave to sit at his side and rub the marbled skin. His murky leavings coated her second beard but she cared not for she would have his member as often as his flesh rose this night. A child would come of this, she knew, a child of Dwarf and Orc and it would be her message to Erebor for their treachery.   Black eyes found yellow ones and she smiled. She let go of Herja the outcast, Herja the rejected. Kneeling over him to rub her body to the Orc’s, the Dwarrowdam became Sirn Ashan, the greatest and the first mother of the Uruk Hai.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok.. I rather always saw this end for Herja from the beginning. The original draft had her just riding her pony and stopped at the base of Isenguard to be greeted by Orcs and that was it. This was a bit …more. The 2nd part doesn’t involve Orcs or Dwarves. I sped up Sarumon’s involvement, he isn’t supposed to come under Sauron’s influence for another 60ish years.   
> Sirn Ashan is Black Speech for the first lover.. There is a second and third to which Sarumon hatches his Uruk Hai in the caverns below the Tower. To me, it couldn’t be all magic but the sac larvae/ Uruk’s birth might be achieved by using the half orcs (Herja and the other mothers progeny) for faster gestation.
> 
> This will be the last Erebor installment for the moment.. the next 4? chapters are going to be mostly kiliel in gondor.. that I know at the moment. I posted this now because I am still working on the logistics of where shops are on the levels in Minas tirith.. I got their house and stuff but public baths? brothels? upscale housing? horse exercising that stuff..gives me a massive headache.


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after.
> 
> ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bain's Pov 
> 
> No special warnings just talk about his water serpent...

 

 

 

Bain shook himself awake, grabbing his staff at his side and sword from the other. The nightmare broke under the beating of his fear driven heart, throwing him out of dreamland to the morning’s reality. The stench of blood bit at his nose still as did the clash of metal on metal grate in his ears. The mixed feminine screams and Orc shouts faded into echoes, catching his breath that they could have been one of his sisters. The battle of Dale could and did reach out and grab him on occasion. It had been hard days then and each year relieved some of the suffering but it would never entirely leave him. Looking at his cold chapped red hands, they were hardly no different than they had been on the lake. Larger sure, more scars around the knuckles but still the same hands. They had known battle and would know more before he shrouded himself to a funeral pyre at a hopefully ripe old age.

The docile nicker of horses greeted him well with dawn breaking the horizon, followed by a belch of sound from Isen. His head wasn’t aching considering the mead he had drank the previous evening with the other guardians. His one thought before his bladder screamed for attention that he must becoming used to the drink after all he had consumed over the last weeks in Rohan. The potent brew was like swallowing warmed honey mixed with kitten claws that bit a little into the soft lining of his throat on its way to the belly. Tasty it was but the morning heavy head was not a pleasant experience.

He strained out his body to the stretched canvas overhead, forcing away the remembered roar of a dying dragon with his own bellowed groan. The tarp above held off the frost that had settled in the night else the crystalline substance would be freezing his eyes shut. Tied down to the wagon, it formed a three sided covering with the fire before them still crackling in the early light. Around him lay the other guardians, still huddled deep in their bedrolls. A few moved of their own accord at his sleepy groan, the snores never waning. On the other side of the wagon lay the merchant, Tarthalion with his housekeeper from Minas Tirith that Bain had finally been introduced to as Yavien.

Stepping over the Men in his quest for an open space, the Prince of Dale stumbled and slid in the frozen grass. Waves of cold breath ghosted the morning breeze as he looked around the meadow they had settled for the night against the foothills of the Beacon of Nardol. Amon Din could still be seen upon the larger peaks, a call for Gondor’s aid if the need was ever dire. The beginnings of Druadan Forest were before them, more of the bared forests and haunted moors. Monstrous specters were said to skirt the trunks, with red eyes and long claw like fingers dripping with poison. Nimrold had been shaking with fear last night when Meneclar’s brother told of a man whose heart had been ripped out when he got lost in the forest near Eilenach.

There had to be more to it or he wasn’t in the right mind to appreciate the old world with its older knowledge. The Elvish lore stored there was unparalleled, Tauriel had said and Dorlad agreed. The Numenoreans had built a vast intellectual society that was on the brink of ruin. The shadow in the east drew each year and soon there would be no hope that the White Tree would boom again. Bain had not felt a rush of warm excitement for such learning when they had crossed out of Rohan, vague regret maybe sprinkled with a sense of unease. Too much or too little happened to their company and he could only wish for a quieter winter until they journeyed home in the spring.

Tilda was in his thoughts, wondering how his little sister might have grown in the last years. She was of the few people he knew with the rare talent of stirring the worst trouble with the least effort. Her letters came from merchants they knew who could be trusted. Gifts and oddities over the years had been frequent with the fun and loving care. Da worried about her so far from them, worried about any of them really. The ugly rumors about Sigrid’s marriage had the King of Dale at his worst.

While a prince understood that Men wore two faces and speak from each, Dwarves were more forth right. Kili wore his heart on his sleeve each day for Tauriel, gruffly standing between her and the any who would try to take her from him. Fili was much the same. Seeing the King, his near brother with his family that last morning should have told Bain that the rumors were wrong before Kili did. Dwarves love powerfully, completely enough to last their long lifetimes.

The stand of trees that would afford him some privacy were just there and it might have been a mile. The thinner wooded species in this part of the southern Kingdom didn’t impress him with its fuzzy bark and short needle like leaves. A distant cousin of a good pine, Bain supposed as he passed one then another, looked like they would break down the trunk in a decent gale. The White Mountains braced the edge at their right side, flowing its rugged spine until it ended at Minas Tirth. Higher elevations made for colder mornings yet these were mild next to a frozen lake in the middle of winter. This felt almost like late spring in the North.

Refusing to use his sword as a cane, he grabbed a tree limb for balance only to meet the orchestrator of his full bladder on the other side. A frost stiff tarp covered the warren Tauriel had made for herself and Kili near the beginning of a promontory. In their haven, he could see his friend wrapped into her body to be bundled into heavy blankets. A large woolen lump before her could be easily overlooked but not the blade in her hand as she blinked away the night’s sleep. Seeing Bain hunched over unsteadily, she whispered to her Dwarf and giving him a kiss before untangling herself from the bedding. There were groans and protests when she left him but Kili rolled on his belly and the snoring renewed once more.

Walking away in search of the necessary, Bain thought back over the last few months with a sense of awe at their happiness. Like the sun and the moon, they were always meant to be in the same sky with her precious stars in attendance. Envy might chase his smiles when he looked at them as did Dorlad’s, envy but no malice. Fili and Sigrid, Kili and Tauriel. There was so much love that came be found if one just looked beyond the prejudice that blinded a person to all the finer qualities of the being in front of them. Seeing them together, all those who took a risk for that special happiness, gave Bain hope for himself that there was a love waiting for him some day.

The sun mushroomed above the Mountain top to the east, highlighting the ground’s hoarfrost in sparkling diamond hues. Far to the north, they would be having snow by now instead of just cold mornings. Da would be shifting about downstairs grumbling with Kate, their intrepid housekeeper about what was to be served and how it was to be cooked. The pressing problem of an overfull bladder brought him to the present in short order, making hop forward to continue the search. Finding a private spot in the shade wasn’t difficult, keeping his business out of public view was a problem until a certain lady Elf caught up with him.

“Oh.”

He didn’t turn about to see her face, he didn’t need to be full frontal to know those pretty green eyes rolled up into her head while she paced a few steps away. Sighing to himself, he fought the obvious need to roll his own frustration at Tauriel. It was hard to explain that her impatience wasn’t helping the matters, his water serpent was rather intimidated by her. It was probably the knives too. The thought of her handling knives had the stream cutting itself off completely, making him grit his teeth in an annoyed grunt as he hopped a little in place.

“Try humming.” She suggested in a helpful sort of way. It really wasn’t though.

“Try going somewhere else. I will join you.” Taking a deep breath would help him relax, relaxing would help the water flow. A soft nicker of a horse that he guessed to be Flandif whispered behind, upping the audience at his rear.

“Wash your hands after.” Her words faded as did Flandif’s hoof beats but it was no use now. The water serpent was thoroughly uninterested in cooperating.

Damnable females and their impatience, Bain thought. No, last night had been his idea. His alone. He would not lay the blame at her doorstep, not if there was a chance something could happen to either Dwarf husband or his Elven wife at an inopportune moment. When they had crossed the Mering stream with it’s spiked ice chunks floating down from the mountains, she had asked him if he sat with the Men the coming night to see if they were ill disposed to Kili and herself. Bain had given her the idea of taking a watch with Kili to allow them all to be together.

Maring the guardian had been gone when they joined the others the next morning after the choking incident, his horse and gear were gone as well. Tarthalion the merchant would say nothing on the matter, only offering his apologies once again. The other guardians had separated themselves from Elf and Dwarf and she wondered if it was from fear or anger at her for what she had done. Dorlad the affable had rode with some, Menelcar as to one but the others had been a little distant. When evening approached and camp was set, Bain had pulled out his stock of Rohirric mead to loosen their stiff backs and stiffer tongues.

It started well in hand, passing bottle after bottle of the brew that Aeldklif had gifted him with himself and Dorlad taking every third drink. The singing had begun with tales of beautiful women and victorious deeds, wilder enemies that had not been in view from Mordor in years beyond counting. Tarthalion and Yavien had enough, seeking their pallets with no raised eyebrows at their leaving. They continued on with the tales, the Gondorian’s bringing out their own ales after the mead ran dry. Only when Bain brought up Beren’s lament to Luthien that the Gondorians became maudlin, looking around the camp for Tauriel as she were the personification of the long dead Elf maid. Dorlad in his genial manner cracked them like soft eggs on a rock.

Bain, after tucking himself to rights, found the Elf rubbing down Flandif as the mare munched on her grain. She had already looped feeding bags on Dorlad’s gelding, Gilesgal and Daisy, leaving Isen for Bain and just leaving Warg alone. The large brown mare stopped long enough to snort at him before continuing as the young Man began checking Isen’s legs to end at his hooves. The red chestnut lipped his hair in greeting then moved to the grain bag Bain affixed to his head to hurry along his morning feed. The young prince saw no point in washing his hands as he would have to do it again after he finished with Isen’s morning rubdown.

“Well.” Her tone was terse but Bain knew it could be from fear. Tauriel was most sensitive when it came to her Dwarf.

“They do not blame you, quite the opposite. They seem to revere you, its why they keep their distance. I think even if you had not been an Elf, their sentiment would be no different. Maring was hated, it appears he got drunk somewhere on the journey and bragged to sleeping with the young archer, Nimnold’s brother’s wife. Whether it is truth, no one could say, but his comments about how ugly you must be for taking a Dwarf to bed angered them anyway. They don’t seem to care about Kili being a Dwarf.” Bain stood to move on to Dorlad’s gelding, narrowing missing a lunging bite from Warg. “I have done nothing to you! Yet!”

Tauriel snickered as she moved to Gilesgal, nodding to Dorlad who joined them with a yawn. “I wondered. Now, I don’t have to. Thank you for easing my thoughts, Bain.”

The young Man grunted at her as he continued the rubdown, giving a smiling nod to Dorlad in greeting. Warg continued to stomp his foot in agitation until Tauriel looked at the piebald with a stern look. “*Garmaer, mann thelross annem.”

The black and white snorted at the Elf until Flandif looked in his direction and laid back her ears. If ever that donkey could look sheepish under the larger brown mare’s stare, it was this morning. Isen was beyond the nasty pony’s regard since being introduced to Tauriel’s mare, insisting at a closer proximity. Kili and Tauriel didn’t interfere as long as Warg behaved, it was only when he became unruly that they separated the two.

Dorlad worked his gelding in silence, shrugging his shoulder when Bain looked to him. They gave Dorlad space when he was reflective, including him when he felt the need for jovial company. He didn’t say much about his thoughts of Arnorra, still puzzling what the future might bring. Despite his advanced age, he would well outlive her and her children. His own sister faced a long life alone now that her husband had been killed so young though she had a son, Estel as a comfort. No future was set, Bain thought as they worked, many things could change when the spring thaws the land again.

“We will reach Minas Tirth by later afternoon.” Dorlad told him as he rose. “I know a short cut but it has been some time since I have been this way. Our traveling companions will think ill of me if we walk into a bandit’s nest in the Stonewain.”

“They might but we will not.” Tauriel told him with a smile as Kili joined her, combing his fingers through her long red hair.

The Elf turned to him with a smile even as Kili’s donkey began to incessantly bray for his breakfast. They took a few minutes to themselves in greeting with her tracing the lines of his brow as his fingers dug into her hips. Bain felt like a voyeur always it seemed lately. The moments they too carved out of the day were stuffed with so much fervent emotion as to equal a physical caress. Married Men were more circumspect in Dale and Lake town in his memories, not even the Kili’s brother Fili was so open with his regard.

Looping the feed bag over Warg’s ears, Kili settled down to rub the animals as Tauriel attended to Gilesgal. Flandif’s mood went sour when she noticed her Rider saddling up the young black mare, trying and failing to bump Tauriel from her rival. The Elf shooed her, quietly speaking in Sindarin to the mare in apology. She would need to ride the mare if they were to form any type of bond but it would never be as strong as what she had with Flandif. Bain could sympathize entirely, knowing without a doubt that he could never have so close a friendship with another horse like he had with Isen.

Kili walked Warg to join Tauriel and the mares as the others in the camp rose to start their day. His relationship was with Warg had gotten better but the nasty donkey was still a handful. The piebald brushed against the brown barrel of the mare as she swished her long tail along his molted back. Bain couldn’t help but smile at the irony of their two mounts having a steady closeness the same as their Riders. If Flandif birthed a spotted foal, Bain could each his Elven staff. The idea of babies brought up a potentially distressing topic.

“I wonder if we will be escorting a pregnancy back north in the spring the way those two carry on.” Bain joked to the Dunedain as they walked back to the wagon to pack their things. “They don’t even wait for complete privacy.”

He wouldn’t dare to call them bunnies, he would think it all day but never say it out loud. More than once, the group had stopped to rest the horses and relieve themselves to find the newlyweds had disappeared. It would be comical if he wasn’t so embarrassed. He couldn’t say if it was just them or Dwarven rubbing off that made them so excited. He definitely didn’t think it was in Elvish nature to be so carnal.

Dorlad looked at him speculatively. “Married love, making up for lost time. I imagine they will be like this for a space of time. It will be spring before we have to worry about pregnant women since Elves are only fertile when the hours are in balance. That time passed when we rode just beyond Isenguard.” Dorlad snorted in obvious glee at Bain’s blushing face. “Physical enjoyment with your mate can over power all else. One day, you will find yourself between a pair of comely thighs and wonder what took you so long to get there.”

Bain shrugged in indifference over the idea of comely thighs. His body worked as it should, waking him early with his appendage stiff and beating in his small clothes. It had been a screaming surprise when he learned what happened when he played with it too much. Bain had never shared a bed with his sisters, so there had never been that awkwardness that some of his friends had experienced. Some boys felt that it was a curse of some kind, to be suddenly segregated from their siblings over a body they couldn’t control. Bard had been more pragmatic about it than others, telling Bain that if a good piss didn’t help then a cold swim would do the trick well enough. He had only tried the cold swim once to come to the conclusion that he liked the screaming surprise so much better.

The guardians were packing up their belongings, rousing themselves with comfortable banter. Dorlad had taken last watch since the others were more or less soused or had sung themselves to sleep. Kili appeared at his back with a smug good morning, and slap on the arm as he and Tauriel began to pack up the horses. Dorlad had snickered at Bain’s expression, an abstract puzzle of why comely thighs made someone turn into a grinning fool.

What if the thighs weren’t comely? What if they were hairy with an odor? How did a woman wash her grotto effectively and make sure it stayed in good working order? The prostitutes he had seen in Lake Town and Dale didn’t inspire him into allowing his water serpent out to play. They were all quite nice and friendly to the King’s son, even offering discounts, but his father had been quite stern on the matter and for the most part Bain agreed. Sometimes a Man brought home something very unpleasant if he dipped his oar in unsavory parts of the lake.

Shaking off the ideas of women and frisky Dwarves to pair off with Elvish thighs, Bain helped them pack for the last push to the White City. It would be the making of him or the ruin and as the sun rose a little a little at the time, he wasn’t sure which would be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I was in a giggly mood when I wrote this.. plus this is rather a set up for his fun times in Minas Tirth..
> 
> Yavien – Means Autumn and was the name of the only daughter of King Tar Amandil of Numenor.  
> *Be polite and food will rain upon you.
> 
> Next update will be on sunday ... everyone have a great week!


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is fruit for the crows to pluck  
>  For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck  
>  For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop  
>  Here is a strange and bitter crop.
> 
> Billie Holiday - Strange Fruit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings.. Bain's POV as they arrive to Minas tirith
> 
> Sorry it took so long to update !

Travelling this last leg had been rather a relief, an absolute blessing. Bain possessed high hopes of a bed and a decent wash tonight that didn’t include others looking on when he did so. Privacy in Lake Town had been in short supply but he enjoyed the solitary lingering in their bathing pool in Dale, a glorious invention of pipes and spouts. The scrubbed affairs he risked on the road since leaving Helm’s Deep were quick at a steam’s edge, the water coldly numbing his fingers before the soap was properly off. Yes, a hot bath, a warm bed, these were things worth living for.

This far south the weather still blew frozen needles of icy frigidity to sting at his nap between the gaps of his cloak. Kili and Tauriel were immune to the weather, the Dwarf for his hotter nature and the Elf for having that light Elvish constitution where the seasonal changes effected them little. He and Dorlad would huddle in their cloaks until the midday sun warmed the world enough to make it bearable. Bain had a morose feeling that cold of any kind would always bring reminders of his childhood on the Long Lake, fanning his annoyance at the same time. Take the boy off the lake but not the lake out of the boy.

Tarthalion was in particularly high spirits, seeing the end of his long journey nigh at hand. The old merchant tugged and naggled Yavien with repeated conversation, putting her in a foul mood by noon. He kept a line on the large drafts who pulled the cart, refusing to allow their step to lag or slow for any length of distance. The palpable excitement emanated from him yoked with his ready smiles. Bain would feel the same in months time when they started north for Dale and Erebor, although the route had yet to be discussed. Tauriel had been emphatic for reasons all her own that she herself would not return, making Kili shrug at the conversation.

Likewise, the Men of the company knew their place on this long road themselves, brashly vocal about what they would do upon their return. Bain and Dorlad had been invited to join them at the public baths before going on to a brothel they knew at what was commonly called the ‘corners’. Energetically, the others explained that brothels in the city were allowed at the first and second levels and only at the ends of each for pedestrian and crowd control. Every house was licensed and rated according to the services they provided, be it food, women, alcohol or a combination of any. Cleanliness was stressed and many had found their licenses revoked as it was patrolled by two healers who reported directly to the Warden of the Houses of Healing.

Dorlad smiled at their chatter, the smile turning sly as he looked to Bain. The thoughts he had over the morning’s ritual came to the fore, frustrating him further. No doubt his friend was mentally hatching some plan with every intention of roping Bain into the midst of it. Their companions had recommended a rooming house where they would find lodgings before having to secure a place of their own for at least the next four months. It wasn’t the first time Bain was grateful for having fell in with the group of travelers. They had been an amiable group, save for Merring, who were most helpful on where to go and what places had the best food for the least money.

The retired Gondorian had taken Bain under his wing as it were of late, imparting giblets of advice of the most trivial things. House Artamirian had a fearsome reputation according to Menelcar only made stronger by the current generation. Tarthalion’s son wielded considerable influence in the Kingdom and in the coastal provinces. Belefalas had yield a daughter for him to marry, tying those ports to the family’s reach. But for all that, the father had mellowed it seemed in his retirement, aging his thoughts and opinions while others were of less geniality.

“Bain, if you have to, or spare him—but beware putting any man in your debt. Of all things, that causes resentment.” The merchant croaked as he drank from a water skin. “Those with nothing but vengeance to live for are condemned by their own bitter victory. It eats you whole and shits out a half life not worth the trouble of living.”

Yavien gave him a disgusted look, pulling her black cloak about her since the sunny morning had not been a clear indication of a warm day. Bain still could not understand the relationship between the two of them, their exchanges were ripe with disagreement before bedding down together in view of others. Had the Man not a wife at home to be angered at the Gondorian’s perfidy? Was that why Yavien kept his house in Minas Tirth while himself travelled on to Pelargir to the bosom of his family?

“The bards of Gondor are different breed than the tavern louts you have heard. They prance through the gates, singing of love, they celebrate slaughter, they extol kings and flatter queens.” Tarthalion preached from his seat, smiling the entire time. He handed some jerked deer meat to Yavien at his elbow.

“There are few enough of that now with only the Steward and his kin, taking up the King’s House.” Yavien snorted, taking the meat as she passed an opened bottle of ale to the Man beside her. They moved in such symmetry, the long years of their association reflected in each gesture.

One of the heavy drafts stumbled but righted himself straight away. Meneclar called for a short break only to be met with Tarthalion’s glare. Tauriel smiled at the exchange, quickly dismounting near a stand of bushes for necessary privacy. Kili rode back to stand a distance away, holding Flandif’s and Warg’s reins. His eyes scanned their surroundings with concern since the morning, constantly keeping alert for any movement. Tauriel had mentioned feeling eyes upon them as they rode forth, bandits or other nefarious ilk could not be known. Dorlad and Meneclar advised it might be Rangers in the brush, the scouts who gave the first warnings of attacks to the city.

“Hush, woman! Gondor has made my house strong!” Tarthalion snorted right back at her, applying the break lever then handing down the reins to one of the guards.

Yavien, Bain could see was the merchant’s grounding, making sure he understood the way of things. Their conversation was not that of master and servant but entirely of equals. If they were lovers or past lovers, he couldn’t be sure. There was a bond, a closeness that might suggest of something intensely familiar and at the same time, wary of the other. They were like an old married couple that loved fiercely once but the fire had died long along leaving only ash to remind them of the burning passion.

“The Kings made your houses strong, while the Stewards have pushed their greedy hands in everything they can. If the Line had not broken so many years ago, a King might be sitting the Throne and the White Tree would be blooming now!” She huffed at him, an old argument by the look of it. The other guards kept their faces away and the sniggering to themselves.

“The Steward knows what he’s about!” But Bain could see that the merchant was less confident, prickled at being reminded of the leaderless helm.  

Bain knew little of the Stewards who served the house of Anarion. An old line that had married well into the high born families, they sat at the foot of the throne of Gondor and welded the King’s power. It had been Stewards who set themselves against heirs that in their judgement were unworthy of so high a seat. The histories that he had read convinced him along with some things he had read between the lines of Tilda’s messages was that the Steward awaited the return of the one true King but the man himself was much more than a servant. In a few more generations, no one will even think to want a King anymore.

Tarthalion refused to be quelled or allow ill feelings to smudge his loyalty to the place of his birth. To the Gondorian, the Steward and the Kingdom were one and the same. Both would have his blood if it were required for the Realm’s defense, marching off with sword or plowshare for the preservation of its fading beauty. It made no difference. Tarthalion naturally conveyed the love of the land that his own father wished for the people of Dale. The foolhardy and brave that would lay down their lives so that their Kingdom might live. Bard had this loyalty, instilling it in Bain at every opportunity.

“It can not be said that the Steward is a Man of the people, he loves his comforts too closely. Luxury always comes at someone else’s expense. One of the many advantages of civilization is that one doesn’t generally have to see that, if one doesn’t wish.” Yavien replied dispassionately, brushing away dust from her skirt as her feet touched earth.

“What do you mean?” Bain asked looking over to the couple who at once looked very uncomfortable.

Tarthalion hissed Yavien to silence which she did but under seeming protest. She began to fiddle with her headdress, wrapping and readjusting the dark cloth in a tight configuration of bands to hold her gray hair from view. A fashion of their women, Bain surmised but had not gumption to ask. Her aggravated looks spoke volumes behind normally active lips. This was an old argument between them, well-rehearsed and never resolved.

“She means the Di’thang. The slave caste.” Tarthalion shifted in his seat, looking rather disagreeable. “Long years ago, many successful raids were conducted into the Umber and Harad regions. Whole villages were put to the sword with the women and children taken as slaves. The young men who were captured, the ones who lived beyond the march came back to Minas Tirth as labor.”

Yavien turned her head away as the merchant spoke, rigid in her disapproval. Bain had heard of some areas that kept slaves but not in places that he would have considered as being the central mecca of higher culture and learning. Was it another sign of its crumbling ruin, that it would turn to debasing others? Tilda had made no comments to this fact that he could remember, speaking of her education and the weekly charity to orphan’s homes and the poor. Surely, his sister would not overlook the subjugation of a race, not after they were almost slaves themselves in Lake town to the governing master!

Tauriel and Kili looked on but said nothing. Slavery was viciously taboo in Dwarven culture and Elves, well. The idea of taking another into a forced indenture of this nature would have placed them all in a mental crisis. Dwarves, especially the Durin’s folk, understood suffering and harsh life at the hands of others. They had made a life to be proud of, then sacrificing so much to follow Thorin on his quest for the Erebor.

Bain understood the dynamic of the caste, having asset management drilled into him by a capable learned master his father had employed. The economics of a society tied to slave labor could and had been proven to be financially lucrative in the short term. But as the members of the caste aged, growing infirm due to the hard work, they were the responsibility of their owner to care for and treat. Many the thrift minded owner would have sold their servants the moment one showed the least degrade in condition, hoping to recoup their investment. It was a hard life, few seeing the years that Tarthalion of House Artamirian enjoyed, nay many died young under depraved conditions.

Bain couldn’t call the caste members property, they were still people no matter their cradle speech and point of origin. It was the other side of the situation, one that he was loathed to entertain. The hubris of the Gondorians to press captives into chains of any condition was a humiliation. Where some had thought to use these people to clean their streets and shuffle off their garbage, these Harad and Umber natives weren’t in position to stop their own exploitation in seedier areas of urban life. Brothels, burlesques and taverns would be the front line of work for females.

Staring at the road beneath Isen’s hooves, Bain could make out the new repairs next to the old cobbles. They were a handful of leagues from their destination, the countryside reflected it. The worn stones and mortar had not the new chiseled look of the fresh lays, but the Prince of Dale had more respect for those old blocks than the new ones that probably had blood in its mixture. The forests were different, sculptured if he had an opinion, with boxed hedges instead of wild growth. The images of poor souls toiling for an overseer shook him deeply. It made him sick inside to think he would be amongst these people for the next months to come and be unable to help those in need.

The company packed up again once the horses took water and the people attended themselves. The afternoon parted into late with servant and master arguing once more. While in the Sindarin and hard to mentally grasp due to the quick exchange, Bain contented himself with taking in the scenery with a jaundiced eye. Menelcar took a position on his left, his skewbald gelding nipping at Isen when he thought his master’s attention was elsewhere.

“Do you stay with Tarthelion in the city?” Bain asked for conversation’s sake.

The grey eyed Gondorian nodded with a smile. “There is room in the gate houses for us. My lord’s property in Minas Tirth is most impressive. Not even the higher lords have so much property on their levels.”

Bain shrugged to him, not completely understanding their explanations of levels and what was allowed where. The entire system was of different structure than Dale or even Erebor. Where the cities of his birth had businesses and entertainment confined to areas, Minas Tirith had it planned by levels. Butchers, bakers, forges all of it regulated to certain places and could only accept deliveries at certain times. Bain could understand that concept as the city had only one gate. All deliveries to the lower levels were brought in between the hour before midnight and three hours passed it. Streets were washed at the upper levels during that time, workers moving down to the lower levels with each pass to finish when the last delivery was made.

Tarthelion leaned way from Yavien once he caught the thread of their conversation. “We were fortunate, you know.” His jowls quivered as he nodded his head vigorous. “Yes, Yes, as the levels went up and up the rock, people began to leave. It is fashionable to have pretty houses at the fifth level now, close to the Tower and the White Tree. The nobles sold off their homes at the lower levels to afford their small stamp of a house.” The old Gondorian puffed himself up with pride. “My ancestor made a very sharp deal with several of such, now House Artamirian owns the entire corner on the west side of the third level with only Coron Bennas as a break. The rose in our crown you might say.”

Once they were underway again, the clop clop of horses hooves held a quicker beat with Tarthalion, a fidgeting conductor. His nervous flick of the reins worried the bits, causing the drafts to toss their heads but trundle quickly all the same. The traffic of a few carts and people on foot passed them by but offered no greeting. Bain looked to the Dwarf who rolled it off as a matter of course but truly it was an odd thing to see so many unfriendly people. Dorlad rode ahead with two the guardians, his bold smile in evidence that they were closing in on the city. He laughed more freely than he had, slapping his hand on a leg at joke told by the Man at his left. The anxiety of the group took more of happy pace as they took a turn and rode up the path to the crest. Two pillars marked the road in white granite with sculpted crowned trees at the top.

“Minas Tirith.” Tarthalion breathed as he pointed beyond the unappetizing view at their feet. Bain took a moment, gazing at the capital of the Southern Kingdom.

The city was an architectural marvel, truly it was. It possessed all the grace and beauty of a halved wedding cake slammed into the rockface. A giant blade of rock knifed the Gondorian confection into quarters, jutting forward onto the plain. The layers of stacked streets at a distance was unnerving, with buildings stuck into the hard frosting of the mountain rock. Ceaseless black movement on the white streets and against white walls reminded him of quite literally a wedding cake crawling with black ants. An odd foreboding feeling struck him all at once, shivering his spine. Those black ants were tearing the cake apart, that was their job. To take and take until nothing remains that was good anymore for anything.

Bain spied the reverent look on Dorlad’s face and also on Tarthalion’s, wisely deciding that silence was best at this juncture. Such as it was, he could admit the city was different than anything he had known. Five years and more of lesser maturity had him living on a shanty town where his father eeked out a living under the harsh thumb of a greedy administrator called the Master. But that was then and this is now, the present found him at the ridge near one of the great cosmopolitan centers of their world. It did nothing for him, no spark of a startled heart or expansion of his soul.

Looking to his friends, Bain noticed the same blanked faces of thought that he himself carried. Except for Dorlad, Kili and Tauriel bore placid expressions of tranquil indifference. To Kili, nothing could surpass the Dwarven Kingdoms of his heritage and rightly, Bain might agree. Where Dwarves delved deep in the earth, constructing pathways of ornate beauty along the way, he might not look upon this city of Men as anything but a pale substitute for what a real seat of a kingdom might be. Looking at the structure in Kili’s light of thought, it wasn’t so impressive afterall.

Tauriel would be more pragmatic, Bain decided as they started down the incline towards the gates some leagues away. Her thoughts would reflect the absence of trees, the near stagnant growth of the failed specimen upon the promontory. The withering of the White Tree, the Tree of the King, was a debated issue as far north as Dale. Opinions of varying degrees sought each other for entertaining disagreement in the taverns where the higher classes of travelling merchants frequented. Looking at the Elf as her lips twisted in quiet disapproval at the barren landscape of the Pelennor, she too would be missing the Greenwood after a six year exile in Rohan’s sea of grass.

Minas Tirth, Gondor, was a land of dreams and memories for these Men. It was rifts of remembrance stitched together with the sighs of time. But it was apparent that the seams of this mighty land were beginning to fray, with rips of neglect at the edges. Bain had no such love for the country, yet looked upon it with a critical expression. Scrub trees, hibernating for the long winter, anchored into the equally dead grass plan. The gray browned soil had been turned after a controlled burn of the harvested crop stubbles. The same was done in Dale to return nutrients back to the ground without adding more fertilizer than needed. While fish heads and bones ground up into meal was a popular, they could always be used elsewhere. Gondor by the looks of it rotated their crops into different spots, with plotted stones in squared areas for boundaries.

“We had best hurry. The Gate warden does not allow entry after sunset, except by express command of the Steward. The Calvary companies had standing permission while the rest of us would have to take a room at Harlond for the night.” The old Gondorian cast an eye to the sun as it trekked across the pale sky. “I want my bed tonight after this trip. Nimnold, ride ahead and alert Saelwen I am coming home.”

The lanky archer lay heels to his mount, pepping forth along the trail at a gallop. Yavien spoke over Tarthalion to appraise the others. “The Lady Saelwen is the widow of Tarthalion’s younger brother, Hurin.”

“Lost him to a fever, I did. Saelwen can’t abid the family house in Pelargir, so she took the Dower house here in Minas Tirith rather than living with her daughters or their raucous families.” Tarthalion advised as he navigated the evening traffic going to the great gates before them.

They were great gates, indeed. Taller than the Trolls that had marched for the Orcs during the Great Battle, they were thrown wide for the incoming traffic. Tarthalion went on to explain that there were only certain times that one might leave and other times that they could enter. It was a regulatory process that prevented crowding or traffic jams for the massive city of forty thousand souls. Entirely defensible as a result of having only one entrance or exit, the citizens would have to plan their day according to the hours and days of the week. Market days were on Tuesdays and Fridays just to the left and right of the gate’s towers, with specialty hours on Saturday mornings for the surrounding farm tenants. Imports ships docked at Harlond all during the week but the wharves shutdown on weekends for days of rest.

Looking up the curtain wall of bleached rock, bastion towers topped with wizard hatted roofs spaced evenly along the surround. Not like Helms Deep or even Isenguard that he had seen at a distance, the city was really a fortified town. Black banners with the emblazed White Tree snapped in the wind which howled like a Warg gone mad. The flat of the fields gave no real breaker before the city, allowing river breezes to roll from Harlond like a flood of air. Large men in gray plate mail with black cloaks and white plumes marched in stoic rhythm along the parapet, their heavy tread noisy on the stone. That much metal won’t allow them to sneak worth a damn, Bain thought as they rode to the Gatehouse leading to the Great gates themselves.

The line wasn’t long but in the distance he could see many ambling their way to the city. The end of daily activity permitted the freed people to return to the city or they were travelers to Minas Tirith. Tauriel lowered her head to cowl draped shoulders, hoping to pass notice. Kili took position on her side with a hand on his bow. Bain watched the crowds of humanity in avid curiosity.

Menelcar rode to his left as they waited their turn to enter the city. “How far are we from Osgiliath?”

“Some leagues and a piece more to the north along the river.” The Gondorian captain advised him as he strained to look forward above those ahead of Tarthalion. “It is the main garrison for Minas Tirith’s defense. We might have seen it if we had taken the North fork a ways but Lord Tarthalion is eager for home.”

Two Men walked behind another pulling a cart of loaded wood, a creaky wheel got Bain’s attention. They pulled heavily on the yokes since the haul was difficult in the rutted muddy track. Their clothes were dirty from heavy work but then too was the Man before them. Not quite so tall as their companion, the men’s faces were ruddy like one might see from a man who was in the sun all day. The closer they came, Bain could see steel torques about their neck with a metal tag hanging from their ear.  

He knew he was staring and cared not a jot for it, intrigued and disgusted by halves. He wasn’t so sheltered that he surmised that these Men indentured themselves voluntarily. The swarthy complexion was darker than the guards or even the Man walking at their fore. The shorter statures marked them too as different. Bain imagined that young Vian and Fian would grow no taller than they but still be listed as giants amongst their Dwarven subjects.

Tauriel caught his eye but motioned him onward with a flex of her covered head. Looking away from the disruption of his thoughts, a tall soldier walked to Tarthalion’s side of the cart with the same self- important swagger Bain was used to seeing in martial individuals. The soldier’s head was bare of his plumed helm, allowing his shoulder length black hair to whip in the breeze.

“Master Tarthalion. I trust your business in Rohan went well?” The Man’s demeanor was affable and he wore his armor well.

Bain could see that the grip was worn on the sword hilt, either from battle or training.   He moved with a fluidity that suggested speed, his shoulders loose at the swing of his arms. Bain couldn’t help but admire that type of standing and wish for it for himself at the age of this Man.

“Well enough. We miss you in Pelargir. Should ever you find you want the river life again, House Artamirian would welcome you back with open arms and wider purse.” Tarthalion handed a wrapped bundle that Yavien passed him quietly. “For your wife, my good Man.”

The soldier laughed but took the parcel. “I thank your generosity, my lord, as well as your kindness. I think you are well served with my cousin, Menelcar and my wife is not ready to leave her family for the river.”

His eyes alighted down the train of Tarthalion’s company while speaking, looking over each until his eyes rested on Isen. A trained mind would take in everything, sifting through each for the oddity that would be a problem for his post. The soldier tilted his head to the side letting his gaze drift down the horse’s body to his legs with an expression of interest. Bain wasn’t sure didn’t know what to make of it but had a nasty feeling he was about to find out. It wasn’t a security issue that had this Man of Gondor looking at the chestnut, more of covetous gleam. The soldier held up his hand to prevent Bain from progressing, the others in the party moving around him like a river to his stone.

The soldier attempted to grab Isen’s bridle but the horse screamed and sidestepped away from him. The Man tried again only to have Isen crowhop out of reach but snap his teeth in anger. Bain kept his seat, moving with fluidity with the stallion beneath him. He could never profess a mastery of horseflesh, but he knew the animal as well his own feet after spending so much time together. The Elvish saddle had been tailored to him, giving him the right balance to stay on the angry horse’s back.

The soldier grinned at Bain. It was a sharp, amused grin that made him appear warglike. "How would a young villian afford a stallion of the Rohirrim? I wonder that you are occupy a place in my lord Tarthalion’s party for you did not when they set off for Rohan some time passed." Patience, the young man thought to himself. He knows us not, we resemble humble travelers though very well mounted. Tarthalion didn’t know their true identity save Tauriel, saying she was formerly attached to King Thranduil of the Mirkwood. Her Silvan heritage showed true in the red hair and active stance in fighting. But the rest, two men and a Dwarf? Had any of Tarthalion’s company looked closely at the quality of their weapons or asked to the nature of the Elven staffs, humble pilgrims excuse could not have rung true. "He was a gift to my father.” Bain stared down the Man and his mocking as he laid a hand on Isen’s neck. “But he had a mount already.” Truth of this words didn’t sway the Gondorian, how was the Man to know King Bard of Dale preferred his barge to an animal. When his father had to ride for any reason, he chose an old plow horse with a rocking gate that reminded him of life on his boat. He and Tilda had laughed at Bard’s reluctance to take a thinking being between his legs with more speed than the King himself possessed.

“Think I am a fool?” The soldier sneered, trying and failing to get within arm’s reach of horse and rider. “No common Man would be gifted with so magnificent an animal! You are no Rohirric, in fact, your speech is wrong for this Kingdom. I think I will take your horse as it must be stolen and you a liar!”

Isen who did not liking the Man's proximity, reared with bared teeth, his hooves lashing at him. Kili yelled at Warg who attempted to bolt into the fray, trying for a chunk of the Man’s armor for his own. Some of the other gate soldiers hollered in Sindarin to their leader but kept their posts. They would neither assist nor hinder their captain in his pursuit to obtain an object of his own desire.

Bain held on to the mane as the red chestnut charged in a circle with the soldier at the center. Angry that this soldier would make accusations of which he had no proof, he tried and failed to reason with the Man. “Living so close to the horselords, you know already that a horse of Rohan bonds with their Rider, rarely ever taking another." "Do you think to instruct me, infant?" The soldier looked incredulous as he gestured to his men for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Di’thang – Sindarin for slave.  
> Saelwen – Sindarin for Wise woman  
> I remember reading that during the Civil War, Nashville had a STD epidemic and began to license hookers and have them submit weekly inspections. It struck me as a rather practical approach since men are going to pay for sex.


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I used to visit all the very gay places   
> Those come what may places   
> Where one relaxes on the axis of the wheel of life   
> To get the feel of life  
> From jazz and cocktails.
> 
> ~Nat King Cole - Lush Life ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings.. Bain's intro into Minas Tirith and getting settled.
> 
> I am sorry that this is late but I got hooked in Smaug's brain in relation to my other story and well.. it took a few days to recover. My muse is a sick twist for which there isn't enough alcohol to drown.

_Infant?_

Bain drew himself up tall to sit back in Isen’s saddle, with squared shoulders before this Man of Gondor. He looked down his nose in the haughtiest manner, copied from Thranduil’s fashion in how to deal with the unpleasant. The large chestnut reared into a low posture once more before powering off with his back legs to leap at the Man. Bain glowered at the soldier in distain, wrangling the red stallion under control. Isen fought him to take a bite out of the soldier, gaining attention from the onlookers. He acquiesced only at a few words from his rider, pawing at the ground beneath with mighty hooves.

Isen had always been in tune with Bain as if they were of one heart and mind. He could pick up the slightest shift in his rider’s state from an indifferent adjustment in the saddle to a minuscule tightening of his reins. The young prince had seen the same reflex between Tauriel and the large brown mare. Even now, the Elf maneuvered Flandif before the enraged stallion, though the mare was not any easier to control having picked up on the mood shift from her own rider and the horses around her. Kili went so far as to allow Warg to slam his head into the soldier’s body, knocking him aside.

The Dwarf growled, his braids clicking together in his aggression. “Think you closely and long, soldier of Gondor. Would that I would allow insult to a _blooded_ _prince_ under my care?” Holding Fili’s axe at his side, but close to the Man’s leg as he rose. It was to his advantage that the short height gave him proximity to more vital areas of the body. “His father charged me with his safety and I am bound to his preservation, taking offense in his name. No pompous ass is going to insult a Prince of Dale, not while I hold an axe!”

The soldier recovered, looking to pull his knife at the Dwarf before him. “I see no Prince of anywhere! A callow boy maybe trying to be Man!”

Young in years he may be but Bain was still was not a child by any degree nor should he accept this insult. Pushing away his cloak, he yanked his short sword hastily as anger colored his perception. Isen screamed, stamping the ground and lashing out with his back legs. People of the line gasped and scattered like chickens before fighting hounds. Yelling and disarray ensued as a wide berth was giving to the soldiers as they squared off against Kili, Bain and Tauriel.

Yavien ran forth with a bumbling Tarathalion in pursuit, having clambered down from their wagon in haste. Bain knew he couldn’t allow Kili to fight the battle that was coming, not in his stead and call himself a Man. He couldn’t hope to win a bout with this soldier either for he didn’t have the experience to stand a true contest. A few fights with Orcs, and all the instruction that Dwalin and Nori could offer didn’t equal the Godorian’s years under a sword.

Menelcar held off the others from the confrontation along with Dorlad to prevent anything further. The Gondorians, Menelcar, and the others wore surprised faces, reflecting the same shock that Bain had seen in Aeldklif and Alfgivia when they learned that Kili was a Prince of Erebor. He supposed it was hard enough to know there was an Elf in their company but now a Prince of Dale? For that matter, what would they say if the others learned Kili wasn’t a regular Dwarf either?

Bain never took his eyes from the Man, pointing his sword at him. “I have come a great distance to visit my sister, the Princess Tilda who is a student in your halls of healing. It might reflect badly upon your head, if I pulled her from her studies and packed her home because of such rude and unseemly behavior by the Guard of the Citadel.” He leaned forward to press his weight upon the stallion’s shoulders, keeping him from rearing again at the Man. “You will not besmirch my family, my country or myself! I will kick your head the length of Pelennor Fields and have your carcass torn apart by dogs!”

Yavien looked on but addressed the soldier. “Caranor, we have travelled with this band for several days. I vow they are good people, strong and true. While it was unknown that he was a Prince of his people, young Bain is a credit to his family no matter their birth.” Her smile grew sharp and sprouted fangs. “When last I was in the city, it came to me that you keep a paramour at a corner house on the second level and that you have fathered an outside child. I pray that your good wife has not heard this as well.”

This soldier, this Caranor, flinched at the driving words hammered upon him by Yavien where he had been unimpressed by Bain. He stepped away, his head turned to the side in shame. Bain, as unschooled as any might be in the art of subtle manipulation, almost wanted to laugh had his emotions let him. Whatever her station in the House, Yavien jabbed this Man in quite a vital area, bleeding him to an embarrassed silence. Tarthalion blocked them from view and spoke quietly to the soldier as Yavien turned back to the cart. She gave him a sly wink as she walked away.

A fat Man in elaborate dress mail with white and black ribbons laced through the chained vambraces hustled up the line, his face ruddy with anger as he shouted in Sindarin. His tall white and black plumes at the top of his helm were quite crisp as if they were freshly plucked from a swan to flutter in the breeze. Kili and Tauriel moved back but took position in front of Isen, refusing to let Bain in front despite his low comments on the subject. Husband and wife were committed, barring any opportunity for him to come to harm.

The man, someone of importance to be so attired in the day to day workings of the city, recognized Tarthalion immediately. The mailed monstrosity yanked his helm, tucked the winged steel away under his arm, soothing down his grey shot black hair and heavily greased moustache. His deference to the aging merchant was expected if the House kept such prominence as the quartet had been led to believe. The former head of House Artamirian spoke in hushed tones with the fat Man looking to Bain once or twice but giving only cursory attention to Kili and Tauriel.

The obese male waddled away from Tarthalion, bowing to Bain but unable to move closer thanks to Warg’s attempt to take a chuck out of his arm, armored or not. “I am the Master of the Gate, sir. I welcome you to Gondor and apologize for the rude greeting. Dressed as you are, I humbly beg your indulgence at the oversight.”

Bain looked to the reproached soldier, Caranor, before he replied. The Man stood at the same place, neither moving away but steadfast before the Master of the Gates. He would be reprimanded and this Man would take his punishment, his honor would allow for nothing less. Dignity was on each line of his composure, merging with strength of will and pride. Curiosity got the better of Bain’s thinking for if Caranor bore his life with integrity why had he acted in this manner? Bain dismounted and walked to the Man who had insulted him.

“My Prince!” Kili called to him as Bain walked by, his words keeping the charade intact. He was unable to follow once the Gate Master joined the procession.

Standing before him, Bain was amazed that they were close in height. “What did you hope to gain from accosting me and insulting my person? I have traveled incognito for many months and this is the first time one has treated me so. You call me liar and thief, what did you hope to gain?”

“The horse.” The soldier said quietly, not looking him in the eye. He fair wilted under the intense scrutiny of his superior. “He is a fine beast. Stealing from a thief is not so great a crime.”

Bain allowed his distaste to show at the words. He could feel his friends at his back, itching to take a swing at the selfish Man. “A thief is still a thief no matter what he steals or from whom. That tells me a lot about your character, soldier of Gondor. You will stand for your error because you were caught, and you will take your punishment all the same. You thought I was beneath your station and it would be acceptable to steal from me. But know this, my horse would never accepted you as a rider. He would have broken you or himself and then where would your wife and your mistress be then? Think upon that went next you try to steal from others.” He turned back to the Gate Master who drew himself up as a rooster might before a threat. “I am Bain, son of Bard the Dragonslayer, King of Dale. I understand your concern in this situation, Gates Master. Tonight, my companions and I will rest and refresh for the road was long. Tomorrow, we will present ourselves to the Steward of the Southern Kingdom as we will be here until the weather breaks for our trip home. I thank you for your greeting and bid you good day.”

Bain sucked at his teeth as he put away his sword, getting Isen’s attention. No doubt, the equine still wanted to grind the soldier’s bones into powder but couldn’t be allowed before this audience. The farce of Caranor’s thinking scalded him raw, however Isen would be killed for attacking a soldier of the Citadel and that Bain couldn’t take. The chestnut trotted forward beyond Flandif and Warg, passing to the left of his rider as he swung into the saddle. Bain was marked as they four rode passed the startled crowds of people. They would remember him and if not, Isen stood out for his bright color and high carriage. What solitude they might have found in this place was over if the world spread gossip as it was wont to do in a crowded city.

They paid no toll and Tarthalion led them onward into the city proper, winding up into the levels. The thick black wall of Othram, wider than an Oliphant gave them entry and promised protection to all behind it. None spoke as they travelled save Tarthalion, swallowing back thoughts of anger and frustration. Storage silos were nestled into the corners against the high wall of the first level, the same construction he had seen in Rohan. Where a lot of food storage might be found in Harlond, if the city was attacked it would starve if their route to the river was severed. Insight would allow for hidden bins and cisterns all over the city for an extended siege.

The first row comprised of a sizable armory and garrison, the Great Gatehouse, and warehouses. Like the bins he had seen, these areas were more for the immediate receipt of goods before their allocation into the city. Officials had their housing at this level, the gate master who he had met, the city planners were at this level. Tarthalion pointed out the who and what of each office and their primary responsibilities as if the situation at the gate was of no consequence. To the Gondorian, it might not have been, although the merchant wasn’t in danger of losing his horse nor insulted due to his age.

Kili pressed Warg into Isen’s side with Tauriel at his other. Dorlad took the rear position with Menelcar, speaking softly as they rode. His friends guarded him in as much as they had guarded with the Gondorians. Bain mentally paused at the situation as he tumbled it over and over in his mind. It wasn’t his fault that the Man was a greedy idiot that couldn’t keep his vows to his wife or used his position to steal from those that might not raise an alert of the behavior. This Caranor was as much of a canker than any burglar who thought to take what didn’t belong to him. While Tarthalion might hold him in esteem for what reason pleased the Gods, Bain would nay give the Man his back in the future.

As the day fell into night, the gleaming white rock took on the appearance of splintered bone. The anemic surroundings reminded him once again of a dying animal, its remains being stripped bare by tiny predators. The architecture, so magnificent at a distance was cracked and faded by age at close quarters. Clumps of rock had been chiseled away from once beautifully sculpted windows, now resembled empty sockets of a dead skull. The shops at the second level were lively as one neared the corners, hosting entertainment and food of all sorts. It was an interesting parallel to the cadaverous feeling Bain got from the dark alleyways between each building.

Bain watched each hand for movement and every face for intent as they passed crowds outside the establishments. Tarthalion’s wagon took a great part of street, yet none complained as they waited for him to go on or they knew the merchant at a glance and dared not. The corners of each level were busy with people in all manner of dress, some loitering before a public bathhouse or ambling in groups down the level. Tanners, soldiers with tankards in hand, Men of different dress and nationality, though none were slaves that Bain had heard about from Yavien. The common females, doxies looking for their next dupe, hawked themselves or the public houses they stood before. He could see Men playing Tavli or smoking qalyan in open windows, many with young girls or boys at their elbow or sitting on their laps in different states of nature.

Tarthalion halted his cart before an imposing structure close to the bladed rock that shouldered up Mount Mindolluin. The building was of the same stone as its neighbors while the honeycombed glass of its numerous windows threw more light down to the cobbles beneath it. A hive of activity and jaunty music flowed like honey from the open doors to mire the passersby in it golden warmth. Several young men or older boys close in age with Bain, buzzed from one point to the next, carrying crates of goods into side doors or lugging buckets of water for patrons.

The Apiary Inn was of a moderate class, well built in stone next to a wooden stable for guest use. No loitering here, nor women of easy virtue flashing skin for rent. Bain curled his nose and tried to look on the bright side but there was little to really see at this point. Tired as he was, frustrated too, he climbed down to look at the couple in the wagon before him. Yavien would always have a place in his heart for the quick work she had made of Caranor and likewise Tarthalion would as well for his solid presence. He lifted his hand to her as she smiled back at him.

Menelcar rode forward beside Kili as his master called back to them. “This is a good place to stay, good food and clean sheets. The lads here are honest workers, won’t steal from you if your purse was left.”

They thanked the Lord and bid them farewell as the cart passed into the tunnel and out of sight. Time on the road together had been informative, and Bain decided they were good people. Tarthalion would stay in the city a day, maybe two before entering the last leg of his journey home. It gave his men some reward for the long trip into the wilds of Rohan as well as an opportunity to see them before they left for home. Menelcar felt it was his responsibility to see if Maring made it to the city by an alternate route or was still floundering in Aldburg where the company left him. The Gondorians had one more level to transverse until they reached their beds, kicking their horses into an easy trot.

Kili and Dorlad went inside to engage a room while Bain and Tauriel went to the stables. If there was an issue with Dwarves in the establishment, it was better to know it now. Many had cut their eyes in Kili’s direction as they rode, their distain was noticeable. Isen hadn’t settled yet, nor really had any of the other horses. Flandif and Warg had been snorting and stamping the whole way up the levels to the rooming house, even sweet faced Daisy had squealed at a Man who stepped too close at her shoulder.

There were no difficulties once Kili and Dorlad joined them, no issues with the inn keeper. He was a solid sort of bull squared Man according to Kili who only cared for the color of the coin and the holder’s mein than nationality. It was the right sort of person who might know of a cottage available who wouldn’t turn them away out of prejudice. The quartet unpacked the animals quietly now that a room with enough beds had been procured. Taking a suite made more sense as it was cheaper than two rooms together. Tauriel had offered to stay down with the horses tonight but Dorlad overruled her with a laugh. They would pile their valuables in the saddle box at the back of the stall. Warg made a most vigilant watcher and very harsh at any transgressor. No thieves would pilfer their belongings.

The stable wasn’t large as the ones in Rohan. Thirty stalls half full with horses of varied pedigrees branched into a square for easy access. Some were large drafts, others had a draft or two in their family history by the look of their hooves. A stable lad or two, Gondorian by their coloring, walked the dirt packed aisle, watching the quartet’s progress and whispering as they pointed to Gilesgal and Isen sleek legs and high bodies in hushed tones. The guardian’s of House Artamirian had said that horses were a disadvantage in the city since they would need to be exercised to stave off the boredom that came with stall life. Most citizens preferred the littered transport up the levels or jinrikis which was a small cart pulled by a slave.

A large hay loft overhead was packed with bales and feed bags for a traveler’s mount. The quiet chirp of chickens nesting above blended with the cuffing snorts of the horses below. Business was not as brisk as the young Man had thought, the winter must pack the multitude into their homes or the quality persons didn’t venture this far down from into the wider realms of the city. The activity of the common folk was expected, gaming and women a most expected vice to be indulged.

Currying down his horse, he thought of the message he would send to Tilda in the morning. She would be so surprised to see him and he to see her. She would have grown in the years and fulfill the promise of her countenance as their father’s mirror. Out of all of the children of the King of Dale, Tilda favored him the most in features with a wilder spirit than her father ever dreamed. Bain had a touch of it with Sigrid being the most levelheaded. For all of his rash talk at the gate, he couldn’t have taken Tilda from the Halls of Healing if it was where she wished to be. Her happiness was paramount.

Bain stuffed up his satchels for his clothes and money. He had not brought so much treasure as Kili had but it was still a sizable weight. Dale had flourished in the last years with its position in trading with several rich communities, most of the profits going back into the city and public works. Bard had kept none for himself in the beginning but had been persuaded in recent years to take coin for himself. When asking Bain to accompany Kili and watch his back, he had made sure his son went with more than the shirt and change of small clothes.

Packing the weapons in the saddlebox at the back of Isen’s stall left availability for the others in Warg’s stall to be loaded with gold. Bain started rubbing down Isen as he called to Dorlad in the next stall. “Did I make a misstep at the gate?”

Dorlad said nothing, shaking his head with a solitude that worried Bain. He continued to strip down his gelding, taking care with each piece. The Dunedain had always shown such respect for his possessions as if everyone was all he owned in the world. Gilesgal nickered to him as Tauriel walked the mare by, allowing her to nuzzle the back of the Man’s head.

“Where are your thoughts?” Bain asked finally as the silence grew. Tauriel threw him a look as she led the mare away, heavy with concern and empathy.

Dorlad was a Man of his own counsel, rarely giving over to his problems in the face of so many that swamped their company. Bain thought for a moment that there were many rivers rushing under the Dunedain’s calm surface, allowing for the flooding destruction of too many emotions. Where Kili could not hide himself nor his happiness at being married, Tauriel’s constant worry over her love was just as energetic. Being around the Dunedain was a quiet moment in the storm of activity they had been faced with but that he didn’t always share his thoughts made the young Man wonder at the level of their friendship.

“This was not how I wanted to show you Minas Tirith. It is more than what you saw this afternoon, _we_ are more than the surface reflects.” Dorlad said quietly, achingly as he shook out the horse blanket.

Bain didn’t understand him in this, puzzled as he stepped to the divide between stalls. “A decadent city is a jagged cradle for tender babes to be born. A Man carries his sins on his own heart and doesn’t ask others to bear their weight. But why does this sadden you? These ancient stones hold Gondorians, not Dunedain.”

Dorlad shook his head as he tossed the blanket upon the saddle and his worldly goods. “Same kinship, different company. We all descend from Numenor though my house is that of Isildur.”

“A kingly house, I grant you.” Bain nodded to his friend. “Two roads have diverged from a common path. One has the benefits of an easier terrain where the other is high and less travelled. Sometimes, the lesser road makes the Man.”

The Dunedain blew out his breath as he closed the saddle box, preoccupied with turbulent thoughts. He rubbed course hands over the wooden lid, unmindful of the texture beneath his skin. One of the stable boys walked the aisle, lighting lanterns while the other brought each horse a measure of grain and saw to their water buckets. The weak light ghosted Dorlad’s face, revealing a carved skull under drawn flesh. He wasn’t so starved as he had been, the lean bones boosted more padding than it had months ago when they first met in the vales at the feet of the Misty Mountains.

“One day, you will be a good king.” Dorlad told him with stout conviction as he faced him. “Experience is a teacher and yours has taught you much. Young in years but your judgment is old, my friend.”

Bain shrugged with a smile as he walked out of Isen’s stall to go help Kili and work with Daisy. “Maybe, you might find yourself upon Gondor’s throne. You have a claim to it as an heir of Arnor.”

The Dunedain shook his head as morose thoughts closed his face again. Bain let the matter drop when his friend made no further comment but felt wildly that Dorlad would do much for these people as a leader. Did the rival line of Elendil have the stronger claim and if so why did a Steward sit in the King’s Hall? Unsure and disquieted, he picked up a hoof pick and started across the wide aisle.

They went their separate ways to assist the others. A hot meal and a good night’s sleep were the order of their first night in the White City and he would enjoy it. Tomorrow, Bain was conscious of the mantle he would have to assume before he went before the Steward of Gondor. He was nigh relishing the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qalyan is the Persian term for a hookah. It is also the reference used in different parts of Russia. Since there was some assimilation of the Near Haradrim to the Gondorian life, I propose that it wasn’t just their people who came but some of their customs as well. Like soldiers who have gone to war in different parts of the world, it would be possible for the soldiers who went to war in Umbar to bring back parts of the culture they enjoyed while there.  
> Tavli is the Turkish version of Backgammon. There is a long history of this game in the Mediterranean, several cultures called it different names and Tavli is just one of them.   
> Jinrikis is short for jinrikiska which is Japanese for human powered vehicle. The English ‘rickshaw’ comes from that word.
> 
> I am hoping for an update by next week but I have two short stories that need to be written with respect to Bain's trip to the local brothel and Tauriel and Legolas. It will decide the tone for the last chapters of this story and I really can't put it off anymore. I thank everyone who reads and enjoys my story. All comments mean the world to me as do the kudos and positive reviews I have seen off AO3.. THANKS A MILLION !!!!!!!


	52. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter turns to spring  
> A wounded heart will heal  
> Oh but never much too soon  
> No one, and nothing goes unchanged
> 
> The young become the old  
> And mysteries do unfold  
> For that's the way of time  
> No one, and nothing stays unchanged
> 
> ~Nina Simone - Everything must change ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bain's POV
> 
> No warnings.. just the quartet settling in for a long winter's nap...

The morning held a brightness that Bain had not expected as he stood looking at the dying Tree of the King with the Citadel at his back. East facing, the city caught the most of the sun as it made its inevitable trek across the sky, leaving wisps of fog in the shadows. The hustle and bustle of a place that never really slept, it was disconcerting to hear so much activity beyond the window glass and not expect a knife in his gullet. Their suite faced the streetside instead of into the rock face and was a blessing under normal circumstances. He would have loved a quiet night without the hawking of the sanitation crews outside, calling over the drunken louts who stumble to their beds.

The nightly operation kept disease from creeping into the lives of the worthy, to foul their enjoyments and pleasurable lifestyles. However, if the lords and ladies had issue with the seedy underside of their existence, it fell to the unmentionable class, the D’thang, to keep clean the City of Men. Minas Tirith’s public works employed people as well as held slaves to sweep and wash down the streets with bath and laundry water that collected in barrels at each house. Places like inns and taverns dumped their water into the city’s waste system which snaked into the rock caverns to drain down to the river. Such places had too much and couldn’t possibly retain it for reuse.

The upper levels possessed public bathhouses or Lornadab that were drained down and replenished with fresh water from cisterns during the night. It would never do for the wealthy of the city to smell lower than the commoners or use dirty water, Bain thought as he continued to stare at the symbol of power. The lower levels were more crime ridden so no public houses were available there. Water was a type of currency in a city carved from a mountain side, a vital commodity to sustain life in a comfortable fashion. Cisterns were a part of every building, maintained finer than the garrisons. If Mordor marched upon Gondor, they would need every drop of water to be had until a siege could be lifted.

He could accept all these innovations and marvel at their use, time schedules for the only gate in or out of the city, urban planning for food delivery yet none could revive the dying white tree before him. Staring at its withered branches, it was frozen in place. Bain wondered idly as he watched it, was the memory of its representation frozen too? Would the reanimation of the petrified wood bring Gondor to glory? Was the squalor and the toiling slaves he and Kili had seen this morning something that needed to be protected and cherished?

Every Kingdom had a dawn, a sun in its ascendency. The moment of its creation when a warlord snatched victory at a sword’s point from the jaws of defeat. It would possess years of prosperity, then the evitable decline. It was a cycle, a wheel of fate but never really tied to a tangible thing. The Gondorians looked to this tree as its beacon, its image branded on the Men’s chest who stood tall at its corners. The bare skeleton in the Fountain Court that once had been a flowering umbrella was immortalized on the coins or castar that they had traded for this morning. Closing his hand on a random silver disc, he turned to the Dwarf at his side.

“Shall we? I care not for this any longer.” Kili shrugged, little impressed as he with their surroundings.

The crisp morning was not so cold as it had been on the road, the press of so many bodies generated heat in unexpected pockets. The fluttering guards around the Tree’s fountain never moved nor shook at their posts, keeping an eye on Bain and Kili when they had walked inside the Hall as well as then the two of them left it. Throwing a cloak on his shoulders this morning had been thoughtless but the situation they were attending was all about expectations. A show in motley, a performance in finery. Stiff Gondorians in stiffer clothes that managed to walk with their nose in the clouds, if they walked at all. Several litters had trotted by him during their ascent, sedans holding a person too worthy to walk.

Bain had watched each part of the city at their trek up the four levels and each had been an education. The architecture of the upper houses was much different, giving way to the years and what was vogue at the time the home was built. Bain was most impressed with the defensive measures with trebuchets tucked into corners to defend borders if needed. He also liked the idea of the public baths and sanitation, those good works could be utilized in Dale. As a town more than a city, Dale’s streets would need to be swept rather than washed as the Gondorians were able to do. If they used water like that in Dale, it would freeze into icy sheets and they already had issues with snow in the winter that needed daily cleaning. Such new ideas that could be repurposed to help everyone.

The meeting with the Steward had gone pretty much as he expected. Turgon, son of Turin, sat in a chair of black stone at the base of the King of Gondor’s throne that neither sparkled nor shown with any polish. Its design was plan of ornament yet it drew the eye faster than the marbled throne high at its back. The black chair’s smooth surface ate at the light in the room like an endless obsidian vortex in a field of blinding white. He ,Turgon, was the center of this immensity, the eye of the storming maelstrom of courtiers who stood gated beyond the statuary of dead Kings.

If the man in the chair had the same dark inclinations of Bain suppositions, it went unknown. The Steward was quiet in manner, neither exultant nor loquacious of any subject. Only his eyes flared slightly at the introduction when Bain waited patiently for first address from him. Schooled in courtly behavior, he knew without a doubt that a prince, even a newly crowned son of an elected King sat higher in degree than a steward, no matter his lineage or the Kingdom he ran. It was evident that the Steward had other ideas but kept his own council.

The robes matched the Man in an unassuming way and Bain was glad he wore his second best clothes to the receiving. No doubt, he would invited to some function during their stay and would be in need for more formal wear. Turgon’s expression never changed, blithe and carefree even as he took in Kili at Bain’s back and ignored him. The skating fashion of the Gondorian’s regard and the evident dismissal of a lowly Dwarf who was himself a prince and held more wealth than Bain’s own Kingly father, almost made the young Man snicker. The noble carrion flapped their black robes in excited murmurs at his name, when before they would have snubbed him on the street for lack of finery and obvious money. Nobles here possessed no nobility, only expectation from the world around them. Avarice screamed from every pore, the cold calculation in their gaze turned his stomach.

At the end of the audience, the dreaded invitation came and Bain accepted but only for expediency’s sake. Kili, as Bain’s bodyguard, was met by the head servant as they left and chided quietly for bringing weapons in the King’s Hall. Kili laughed at the Man, thumping him into the lower back as they left, then thumped Bain on the hip for good measure. Breaking out into the cold light of morning didn’t ease Bain’s mood as it had his friend’s but now it seemed Kili was much friendlier than he had been in previous years.

Bain with an impatient Dwarf took a jinriki that barely held the pair of them for the short ride to the Halls of Healing, having tossed the bearer a castar. A two wheeled cart of dubious stability jolted with the twang of bells the slave who pulled them wore at his ankle. A swatted man, thick at the arms and neck, the slave clopped off upon tight fitted boots that wrapped his leg up to below the knee. The prince of Dale knew he watched the back of a slave, a man forced to do the bidding of others. It rankled but he tried to affect a calm air, riling himself would only anger Kili at his right.

The Dwarf was nonchalant now that they were going back to the Inn, quiet save for the clanking of his marriage beads that swayed against the others in his curly hair. He and Tauriel had taken the window lounger to accommodate them both, while Bain and Dorlad took the bed. If he was disgruntled about the privacy, Kili made no mention. His thoughts were his own as he sat fiddling with the groves of _Orcrist_ ’s missing guard, his face wiped clean of expression now the immediacy of people had passed. Kili’s dread at being separated from Tauriel had an unfortunate way of bringing out his restlessness and shortening his temper.

Since the Dwarf had been the most vocal at the gate, it was decided that Kili would attend Bain at his presentation as the ‘bodyguard’. The snarling objection went unnoticed by the others and his friend almost wore a pouting expression as he dressed. Tauriel could not without revealing herself, Dorlad pointed out quietly and Kili agreed in a grudging manner. They didn’t want the exposure an Elf would bring them. Bain found though, he wasn’t comfortable about asking Dorlad. The Dunedain might feel off his affable mood in the presence of an usurping Steward and the White Throne of his people.

The bearer pulled to a stop outside a non-descript building that Bain had barely paid attention to in the morning trip. The man wasn’t winded from the downhill trot, his body obviously conditioned to the experience. Looking up at the edifice, it was nearly four stories with a slate roof capping the top. It was the same bleach bone white of the other structures but with more Elvish symmetry. Green Ivy grew from pots at the bases of the support pillars to reach with leafy fingers to the keystones in the center of its arches. Sindarin script circled the bases as well as the capitals, an elegant flowing language that was very organic in presentation. It was a peaceful place, well fitted as a Hall of Healing.

Walking inside the foyer, several young ladies in wash faded blue uniforms and white aprons offered refreshment to waiting patients. The large room held low seating and scattered tables for people to lounge as they waited. Lavender scented smoke waived in the air along with a chilly breeze. The novices, Bain assumed at a glance to their youth, wore dark hair pinned beneath white kerchiefs to reveal the same blue gray eyes that he had seen on so many in varying size and aqueous texture. One or two possessed the darker browns in contrast to their lighter sisters, though in a minority still beautiful by their rarity. However, these girls missed nothing as they went from one patient to another, looking at hands and faces as they moved for obvious injury. They were young, close to Tilda’s age but not his sister.

“Excuse me? I am looking for a young student here.” Bain approached one who looked at odd ends for the moment, her face slightly pinched.

She was an interesting sort, heart shaped face with full lips that had were compressed in a hard line of irritation. The hourglass shape of her torso cinched tight by the white apron held no hard angles, only smooth curves. Bain stared at the leading slope of her backside as it swished to set down her tray. It was mesmerizing.

“You will have to speak to the Novice Master, he should be in the courtyard through there.” The young lady pointed out into the lawn that Bain could see beyond the open door.

“Its my sister. Tilda from Dale?”

He had hoped to stop any wandering, finding Tilda quickly before encountering a lot of red tape to do so. No doubt this Novice Master would require some interview and after his morning with the upper echelon of this society, Bain wasn’t in a friendly enough mood to be accommodating.

The young girl stopped and slowly turned to him. “You’re Tilda’s brother?”

She looked him up and down, from his feet to standing hair on his head. The slow perusal made him a bit uncomfortable in an indescribable way. Her eyes were more blue than gray, set wide in a pretty face framed by the standard white wimple. Her fingers flexed a little either from nerves or some other reason that he never understood in women.

“Yes. I am Bain, her brother. Some friends and I decided to spend the winter here in Minas Tirith.” Idly, Bain wondered if her hair was the same Noldorian midnight brown, as thick and lustrous as he had seen on so many others.

“Oh.” The novice said simply, still staring. “She is with the herb class. They left yesterday for the sisterhouse in Harlond for Market day there. She won’t be back until this afternoon.”

“I am staying at the Apiary Inn on the second level with my companions, if you would be so kind as to tell her.” Bain smiled at the girl whose black eyebrows shot into the white cloth at her brow.

Bain left the ward feeling a might disgruntled in that he was sad not to see his sister right away. The excitement on the road had faded before they had reach Helm’s Deep but the thought in the back of his mind was for his baby sister. For truth, Tilda had not known he was coming nor could she have begged off attending her class. If she returned by the afternoon, they might have their reunion tonight and eat dinner at the Inn. It cheered him moderately as he sided up to the Dwarf. Kili stood by the jinriki garnering odd looks for his race and dress in the clattering morning. His foot taped impatiently, and for once, Bain agreed with the sentiment.

“She is in Harlond if you can believe it! Tilda will be back this afternoon.” Bain and Kili walked to a food vender hawking meat on a stick. They had eaten some interesting animals on the road so the young Man wasn’t concerned with the variety, only that it was thoroughly cooked.

“All is well. It gives us time to find a house or decide to leave the city. After having seen this great place, I am inclined to seek different locations. Maybe, Dol Amroth.” Kili finished off his food and went back to the vender for more. He effectively negotiated for three, haggling like a fish wife in Laketown.

The morning was breaking into midday with people milling up and down the throughfares. A litter with four bearers quick stepped by with a rather green looking lordling reclining back in the curtains. Obviously he had enjoyed himself too much and couldn’t bother to walk up ever how many levels it would take to find his own stoop. This Man was not alone, a few Men of varying age staggered up the incline as if they listed on the rocking deck of a boat.

Bain noticed in their descent the quality of the clothes people wore degraded with each level. There were servants mixed in the thronging groups naturally, but the stylized headdresses on some denoted them as wealthy. If for no other reason than why would a commoner swath themselves in a thousand layers of cloth and jeweled ropes for no reason? Men and young boys followed behind these personages carrying goods or baskets of some type that Bain could not see. Some wore what he deduced were house colors in varying arrays of style but each individual, even the one pulling their cart wore a metal torque around their neck with a metal tag denouncing ownership. A slave collar.

When they arrived to the Inn, they met Tauriel, wrapped in her cloak leading the horses back to the stable. Flandif was at Tauriel’s shoulder with the other horses’ leads looped around their fellows, forming a long line of horse flesh. Not idle in his and Kili’s absence, she took the horses for a walk to stretch out their legs while the stable boys cleaned the stalls. Dorlad was waiting in the stable, sitting on a bale of straw with a good view of the boys’ activities.   While Tauriel was more likely to be discovered in the tidal crowds on the promenades, she had never the less drawn the short straw.

Bedding down their animals once more, Kili and Tauriel snickered together from a far stall. Bain rolled his eyes to the Dunedain at his right. “Well, that’s done. Honestly, I was bored to tears up there. I was shocked at all the fuss about it.”

“Not impressed? The Lord Steward is the master of the city for all his sitting at the feet of the White Throne. There is more than one lady of his house, I’m sure, that would make you a fine Queen.” Dorlad spoke with a quite fortitude as he brushed down his gelding.

Bain shuddered at the thought of a taking a wife, much less making a woman of this city his Queen in Dale. Revulsion color each thought and word. “Not interested at this point. There is drinking to be done and I for one, wish to see if the wines and beers of this great Kingdom stand to compare!”

The barn was closely warm, no braziers were lit, only the bodies of the animals and their humans. It was study wood with solid beams overhead, not a temple to its inhabitants but clean at least. Bain had no worry for Isen here and true, the stallion was quite capable of defending himself. Maybe, if Tauriel was agreeable, Isen might have a good turn at Gilesgal if the mare was amiable. He was a fine horse and companion, such traits shouldn’t die with him.

Once all complete with their animals, the quartet left the barn for the Inn to wash up before eating. While there was no lornabad on their level, the Inn possessed a bathing room on the first floor behind the kitchens. For a few tharni, the room was yours with hot water and towels provided. They took turns, Dorlad and Bain then Kili and Tauriel. Of course, the married couple had to be reminded that food was waiting and they could snuggle into each other all the afternoon.

They tucked into a table in the tavern with bits of stew and crusts of bread. The beer was flowing, helping Bain get beyond his morning and think onto seeing his sister. The conversation was filled with impressions thus far of what each felt and thought of this great city. Dorlad deflected, ever the apologist for the shortcomings. The issue of the slavery he couldn’t ignore and gave no response. It was hard for Tauriel he could see, knowing her opinion of this indenture. Bain could only surmise that the ideals of Gondor had been conceived from Elvish and Numenorean parents, it grew into something that was quite unrecognizable to either.  

The banter continued until Dorlad saw a familiar face at the door. “Nimnold!”

The Gondorian threw up his hand with a wide smile, closing the distance with their seating. His clothes were simpler than they had been on the road and cleaner. Dressed in rough spun rather than the leather gambesons and vambraces, he looked closer to a boy than a man. Nimnold carried only a short sword at his hip and a dagger in his boot that Bain could see, his bow and arrows were missing.   His long hair was tied back to show his neatly trimmed beard and a love bite beneath his ear.

Kili rose from his spot to clasp his hand while Tauriel stayed seated by the window. She gave a nodded and a smile of greeting from beneath her cowl as Dorlad rose to wait his turn. “We had not thought to see you until the morrow. We were going to farewell you at the gate!”

Nimnold laughed as he pulled up a chair to join them. “I come on an errand for my master.” From an inside pocket of his cloak, he withdrew a missive to hand to Bain. “I am to wait for a response.”

Bain took the envelope from the young man, turning it over to see a gray wax seal with the imprint of a two fish in opposition beneath the seven stars of Gondor. The chop of the House Artamirian. There was something wrong with the tails on the fish but the seal might have wiggled in Lord Tarthalion’s hand.

Opening the paper, Bain read aloud for he would keep no secrets. “I, along with my company have been invited to his house for lunch.”

“Obviously, my master didn’t expect you all to eat so early.” Nimnold told him with a grin as he signaled for the barmaid.

Bain looked to each of his companions in turn. Curiosity held them all in a grip. “Let us finish our lunch and we will go?”

The rest nodded. Tauriel took another crust of bread and brown butter to pass to Nimnold as they continued with the food. “I will be happy to wait and escort you. There are things about the city you may not know.” He smeared the butter liberally, with great enjoyment. The inn’s beer was the best compliment to wash it down.

Silence ensued as they slurped the rest of the stew and downed the beer with relish. Nimnold’s company on the road had been more subdued, learning the craft and waiting to impress his master. Here, in the city where he felt a measure of safety, his exuberant nature cracked the walls that dammed it back. The young Man spilled all manner of wild tales of what good fun was to be had here. The other guardians planned for a night out at the corners on the second level later at a burlesque featuring Harad girls dancing in veils. The next sentence started in squeak when he caught the amused expression on the she Elf’s face. The stammered apologize was funnier than the squeak.

“My Lady.. oh.. I..”

Kili cut off the young Gondorian’s fits and starts with a bladed look, Tauriel chuckling breathlessly at his side. The Dwarf’s protectiveness had not abated, not by the meanest fraction nor would he allow a possible afront to breeze by her. Dorlad tossed the necessary coins on the table before words could pass between Man and Dwarf, the clatter capturing everyone’s attention. Bain and Kili argued at once for the tab but Dorlad wouldn’t listen to them. The Dunedain good naturely pushed them from the hall without allowing any further dispute. They emptied themselves to the walk and began the climb to the next level.

Nimnold showed them the cut thrus, the niches where they could advance without having to go too far out of their way. The alleyways that opened into a tiny park or a spraying fountain. There were women at the fountains, drawing water in heavy buckets that they yoked at their shoulders. Bain almost reached to help one girl but an older matron hissed at him angrily before pulling the girl away. The collar of her dress slid away to reveal an iron torque at her neck.

“You don’t have the right to touch a slave without the permission of the master.” Nimnold told him quietly as they started down the long avenue leading to Tarthalion’s home.

“We keep no slaves in Dale. While there might be lords and ladies, people of rank, we do no subjugate.” Bain said, trying to find the right words that wouldn’t ignite the Gondorian’s temper. He had no more power to change the Steward’s mind than Bain did.

“It was not always thus. Most of the slaves are owned by the Citadel since they are taken as prisoners first. The revenue from their annual sale goes back into the coffers for the garrison.” Nimnold looked uncomfortable as his pace quickened. “No slave may have their freedom, nor any of their progeny born in the realm, even if they are of mixed caste. If the master can no longer care for his property and is not able to sell the slave on his own, the Citadel is obliged to buy the property back at half the cost paid.”

Bain shook his head unable to process what the young Man was telling him. It was a hard thing for him to bear, a harsh sentence to consign a person by virtue of their blood. The trade’s unsavory nature rankled as Bain looked at a pompous old man who publically fondled his slave. There could be no life for these people here, nothing of worth or note. These slaves were affixed to a station for deeds not of their own, forced to live a life that was not of their making. Old men their once black hair striped in gray, cleaned out a blocked gutter from the street near the wall as they rounded the curve in the road. There was no expression on their faces, no joy or happiness. It was an empty blank page with no expectation in life. Men profited on this misery, feeding on their labor as if there was a right to it. It was sickening.

Unable to keep watching with any civility as frustration mounted his soul, Bain and the others walked around the browned grass island before the gates of house Artamirian. The fortified wall was high, not as age pocked as the surrounding rock. Black iron railings, scrolled and twisted like a fisherman’s net caught on spears capped the top of the wall in stark contrast to the white stone below it. The wrought gates were of the same design, webbed and flowing to be decorative instead of functional. At the keystone in the middle of the arch, a medallion of the family crest had been placed. Bain could see that it wasn’t an issue with the seal being smudged at all, the fish were bound in some way.

“Nimnold, is that rope around the fish tails on the crest?” Bain asked, pointing into the arch.

“Yes.” Nimnold told him with a smile, obviously happy to leave the slave talk behind. “It is to signify that once house Artamirian was in trade. Lord Tarthalion says that it is a reminder that before the elevation they were of the common folk, and not to forget they could be again.”

The black iron gates were open, though a retainer sat in a covered niche just against the wall. He wouldn’t be seen immediately from his vantage point and could surprise anyone who was uninvited. Bain was sure it wasn’t the only one and he spied Tauriel and Kili looking along other walls for the same. Nimnold waved his hand to the guard who flicked his chin in response.

Taking in his surroundings at once, Bain was impressed by the scale though his perception was still slightly sour. “I can see why Lord Tarthalion said this was the jewel of his family’s holding.”

The estate was huge, sprawling in the same manner as a country house might be for a lordling of note. The grand house was indeed that, tall at three stories with curved capitals crowning each window and door. Black rock bound the edges of the manse, holding it together with squeezing bands. Double doors yawned wide in invitation as the placement of the house abutted the edge of the level. If he looked further then the boundaries of the lawn, Bain could see the plains, searching out in a panoramic view all the way to the river.

Other buildings of the same design backed themselves against the shore of the next higher level. A stable of size took the corner of the property, with gabled windows on a roof almost equal to the next tier with a steep slate roof. Bain huffed at the idiocy of the construction for it compromised the security. A thief wouldn’t have to scale the walls or worry about the sentry at the gate, merely jump from the upper deck to the stable roof. A covering next to it held two wagons, one of which was the one Tarthalion had used on the road. Bain could see hay bales in the back for the horses. Another building hide itself quite well amid fruit trees and was a small house by the looks of it. Servants’ quarters or slave quarters, Bain mentally corrected.

But the lawns were the main attraction, it was had been designed to be eye catching. Bright canvas canopies, triangular and stretched tight into slightly curved shapes, like sails of some large ship, shielded parts of the walkways between them. White gravel paths shaped the different patches of green to accent the fountains with water spraying from the gaping mouths of stone fish in the center. The main house sat at the level’s border with a wide stone terrace before it. The rest of the house curved in to the distance, hugging the garden’s fringe in a desperate grasp. Pots of rose trees and bushes with deliciously large white blooms of unknown species dotted the verandah to give it relief but all it did was show the main house’s lack of warmth in the architecture.

Gardens like women were meant to be seen, smelled, walked through, gambled in. A hundred objective measurements didn't sum the worth of a garden; only the delight of its users did that. This park, however, could have been a gift, a dowry of talent, skill, and vision. But in essence, it was a shrine. The loving care that shaped the topiaries to the green poofs of immaculate construction alone was breathtaking. It was the perfect placement to showcase the little house behind the large one. The Dower house of Tarthalion’s near sister if Bain guessed correctly.

“Beautiful, aren’t they? My brother’s widow, Saelwen, cares for them as the blooms are her only joy now.” Tarthalion called as he joined them. Bain realized it wasn’t only himself that had been amazed by the park’s beauty.

No man should have a garden blooming in winter but somehow the lady Saelwen had managed. Shrubs with indigo blossoms framed the whorls of garden paths, tall spires of unfamiliar plants with white triangular flowers beckoned, and roses, hundreds of roses, in every shade, filled the flower beds with skirts of green ferns rippling at their roots. Between them small gazebos offered a place to rest and enjoy the view.

“Forgive me. Truly, Prince Bain.” Tarthalion simpered as he drew abreast. “Had I known of your titles I wouldn’t have asked for service upon the Road.”

The Man’s slippered feet made no noise on the pavers nor the gravel and thus gave them no warning. His manner was quite genial as he smoothed gray gloved fingers over his expanding middle. His robes were richer here, a lord of the manor home from his travels. The dove gray tunic with the red collar paired well with the dark gray surcoat with red fox lining. A mithril badge of sparkling fish pinned an embroiled sash to his shoulders.

“It was mine to give and the company was true. I could ask no more.”

The statement was correct and humble, given to a man who had offered help when he thought them nothing more than common travelers. Tarthalion had given his hand in welcome when others might not have been so generous, certainly anyone being led by Maring.

“The mystery that has surrounded your company is alleviated thanks to this news. Two men, a Dwarf and a warrior Elf of King Thranduil’s court travelling together? They were your protection, yes?” It was phrased as a question but the look on his face said it was a curtesy. The Man thought it to be true so it no doubt had to be true. “I have heard tales of the new King of Dale is of the House of Girion. An old line that served the Kings under the Mountain.”

This vein of conversation was getting too close to the truth for Bain’s liking. He had agreed with Kili in the beginning that the less that was known the better for their chances at coming and going in their travels. Though his Dwarf friend wasn’t capable of hiding himself for any length of the time, the facts of the situation remained conclusive. This city set him on edge, if not Mordor on the horizon but the inhabitants that swarmed in deep blackness with predatory intent. The young Man of Dale looked to the merchant lord, allowing his misinterpretation of the facts to stand.

“I would like to offer my home for as long as you have need of it.” His face was earnest and hope. He was offering his hand again in the same manner he had offered to assist Tauriel and Kili after the Maring incident.

Bain started in surprise that the merchant would be so generous. Smiling, he shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, my lord. But I would not like to put you out for ….”

Kili and Dorlad spoke quietly behind him, their tone muffled as they conferred. Tauriel walked away to study a hedge cut into the shape of some sea creature though she watched the proceedings with careful inspection. As the ‘prince’, Bain was left to deal with their enterprising merchant lord on his own and not sure if he could do so. Nimnold bowed to them both with a smile before walking to the stable block and presumably his quarters above it.

“Not a jot. It is the pleasure of House Artamirian to extend every courtesy to you and your guardians.” He nodded to Kili whose eyebrow shot to his hairline. “None shall disturb you here and it will give Yavien someone to fuss over in my absence. With Winter coming on now, I will stay in Pelagir until late spring.”

The Dwarf broke away to take a step before Bain as a guardian might and a representative would. His air was purposeful as he hooked his fingers into the wide belt at his middle to rock back on his heels. His sword sheath was tucked into the same, leaving himself free and open without giving offense. The young prince looked around the garden for a moment as Kili hummed his approval and began negotiations. Dwarves loved to haggle for the better bargain but Kili wasn’t going to leave them owning more than they could afford. Sometimes free wasn’t free at all but had invisible strings attached in uncomfortable ways.

“You are most generous but my prince would offer you say…. 1500 castar for the next five months rent of your guard quarters above the stables. It should be advantageous for us not to be in a rooming house.” Kili told him in a solemn tone of cleric reciting figures.

Dorlad smiled and bowed to the merchant as if he too gave his approval to the endeavor. They each presented themselves as looking out for their ‘prince’ and not the material concern of a softer bed. Five months on a slated straw mattress would be no different than a leafy pallet to break up the hard ground. Neither Man nor Dwarf cared if the sheets were clean or if there were fleas and bugs crawling into bed with them each night, but Bain did. However, he took a half step back and allowed them their way since they didn’t want him getting too soft before returning to Dale in the spring.

“But your highness, I offer my home for free! I should be ashamed if I took..” He babbled a moment, his face turning to flushed red at the counter offer.

“We have been indebted to you already, my lord. We will not haggle for it, not between friends.” Bain said with a smile and a nod. “I will do no entertaining here and would prefer to remain as inconspicuous as possible. But what of your family? Will they not come here?”

“My family will winter in Pelargir as well. The air on the river is milder and the Yule enjoyments are many. They will not trouble you.” The merchant was gruff as folded is arms over an expanding belly, huffy now in agitation that he was having to push so far for his wants. “As you say between friends, your highness, though I will insist on the second level guest rooms of the main house!”  

Bain wondered for a moment if Tarthalion had other motivations. An Elf under his roof, a Crown Prince of Dale? The bragging rights alone were high if it were quietly circulated to the nobility in the city that House Artamirian hosted such personages at their manse. Only time could tell and hindsight was always clearer. Looking to Kili, Bain shrugged in agreement. They wanted a house and this place would be their sanctuary, a haven with a large gate. The paths and graveled pavers of the park would allow them to exercise the horses easier than walking the levels and avoiding crowds.

Looking away as Man and Dwarf struck the bargain, Bain walked to the edge of the park to gaze down on the world as it fell away from his feet. There, Bain thought, pushing away his cloak as the sun warmed him further, the shadows of Doom lay on the far horizons to the east. Mordor had tried to insinuate itself into the lives of the Middle Earth, bending all to its will much like these people of Minas Tirith with their fine clothes and rich lifestyle. Captivation was how the madness of the world tries to colonize like an army of ants. From the outside in, it forced people to live in its reality of insanity, always wanting more than you have, more than what was needed. It takes more than one to fight that type of attrition, more than a quartet of travelers far from home.

**************

It was late when they arrived back at the Inn. Kili had agreed that they would not arrive to the estate, until the Gondorian’s left for home. There was no reason to stretch their resources any further than was needed. Kili and Bain had stopped at a money lender, recommended by Tarthalion to exchange some more money to castar. Any food needed and provisions for the horses would be their expense not House Artamirian’s. They had planned to do so at any road, and the amount they were paying for rent was much lower than expected.

Dorlad had pointed out particularly funny comments of some of the statuary prevalent in the gardens and how it would take four strong men land such creatures where they real as the quartet entered the Inn’s main foyer. Bain laughed heartedly at the image of his father trying to beach such things when a light cough sounded behind him.

“Bain?”

A young girl rose from a seat near the window, pulling away the rough black hood. Her washed blue dress held no decoration but revealed a sturdy body that he didn’t recognize, not at first. The girl’s hair was the color of rich plowed earth, her eyes darker still. The deep color of river silt before it bakes in the noon sun held his gaze with a beginning smile that he had seen on his father’s face a thousand times.

“Tilda?”

Gone was the gangle girl child, the youngest of the Bowman’s house. A young woman rushed at him now, tall even for a female with the top of her head reaching his cheek as she threw herself into his arms. The warm embrace filled him with joy as she cried his name again, holding him tightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things to mention. The incomparable Iscalibtra has reminded me of something very important. This story isn’t Bain’s or Fili’s and Sigrid and all the drama that is happening at the Mountain. This story is about Kili finding Tauriel again and they have. So I have cut out the next 6? chapters that were planned for Bain’s coming of age in Gondor but his sexy times will be in the outtakes and it will be a little longer than planned. The next chapter is Kili and Tauriel and jumps the fiveish months until spring.  
> The travel time after that will shortened too because I am will procrastinate and write massively unnecessary chapters and very trivial things in a story that doesn’t need the bloat. I am keeping the war at Erebor because those chapters are outlined and it wraps up the story.  
> I want to thank everyone for their reviews and comments, here and online.. It is a wonderful thing to know that others like your work.  
> Lornadab is Sindarin … means waterhouse..  
> Castar is their unit of money; tharni is a lesser coin a fourth of the value.


	53. Chapter 53

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those fingers in my hair  
> That sly come-hither stare  
> That strips my conscience bare  
> It's witchcraft
> 
> And I've got no defense for it  
> The heat is too intense for it  
> What good would common sense for it do?
> 
> 'Cause it's witchcraft  
> Wicked witchcraft  
> And although, I know, it's strictly taboo
> 
> When you arouse the need in me  
> My heart says yes indeed in me  
> Proceed with what you're leading me to
> 
> ~Frank Sinatra - Witchcraft ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:
> 
> The first part of this chapter is Kili and Tauriel, the second is not. The second part has non graphic icky smut...

_Early Morning in Minas Tirith_

_Four and ½ months later_

_Tauriel’s POV_

It woke her before daybreak, a trill soft along her skin. It was a vibrating song and its melody made her smile.

Four months and some days they stayed in the estate of House Artamirian, mostly stayed. She and Kili had found time away to explore the reaches of the wharf city of Harlond, Pelagir with its canals instead of streets to the upper reaches of the White Mountains. They had made excursions into Ithilien by taking a boat across the Anduin. Her Dwarf had no love for the water, even a calm river that rushed south to Belefalas. In the wilds of Emyn Muil, they saw little of Gondor’s footprint except crumbling monuments of the previous age. Orcs and evil things hunted in the shade of tress, waiting for the unwary. Those trips kept their skills and senses sharp, cutting down the foulness that was slithering from the east.

The weather had been an unpleasant revelation too despite her natural immunity, she thought with a remembered grimace when she shifted to a seated position. Snow and ice in Gondor wasn’t the same as it had been in the Greenwood nor in Rohan. Here beneath the crisp cold was a wet distinction that was very confusing. How could ice be both rigid and softly slippery? It made her miss the forests all the more with its defined boundaries between elements. In life, there had been boundaries in its people too.

Tauriel took in the whole experience, the good and the bad. She knew she was privileged to see it now, before the shadow claimed this kingdom and it would eventually. Some truths were bitter but it didn’t change the right of it. Unless the Heir stepped forth to take up his seat again, the Men of this world and this city would fall to the great evil that she felt stirring in the wind. However, a place isn't beautiful because it lasts or the stone entombs the ideal of the founders. Nothing endures in their world, only the memory can be that. Everlasting. A moment in time where the beholder looks back with wonder to see beyond the simple. That was what Elves were to the world, a living memory of what had been, what could be.

Looking around the room, she saw that she was alone. Her Dwarf had stable duty and would be downstairs caring for the horses. It was a rotation, so that no one person had so much to do. They each cared for their individual mounts but the overall cleaning and feeding was done in shifts. House Artamirian employed an old sailor who lost his taste for the sea to care for House horses and grounds instead of having a slave. When Tarthalion left for Pelargir, he took the stable horses with him as they were getting fat with inactivity. He left a pair of thick set saddle horses for his near sister should she need them, yet of late Saelwen had not. The old sailor cared for the geldings as if each animal was a precious gift, singing shanties to them as he worked.

Tauriel rose from their bed to take a seat opposite the wide window that looked out over the plains of Pelennor. Rubbing a hand over her belly, she drew a shift over her head as she tucked herself in the lounger, soaking in the view of the morning sun. There is grace in their failings, these Men of Gondor, she concluded. They tried so hard to mirror what was lost, to grip so tightly and hold on to it, their need had warped them. To try something, to strive for a thought, an ideal held promise. It effected the fighting spirit to be better than they were.

But the evil of Mordor had tainted this land, to take slaves and collar people like chattel. The insidious desire for more, the greed had corrupted them, like an old woman who had stayed too long at the party after her beauty had reached its sunset. Age and weather were not kind to this grand dame, The White City, Men had creased her mighty facade. Gondor had been powerful, a mighty land of truth and learning. _Once._

Tauriel stirred, crossing her arms, as her thoughts took a distressing turn to the D’thang. There were slaves owned by the House but they were few and as far as she could deduce, very well cared for. It was a status symbol of sorts, being able to afford Man flesh and its upkeep. The three male slaves on the property were darker than most of the D’thang she had seen, coming from Far Harad as children. They barely remembered their homeland, or even their cradle speech. Unable to remove herself completely from what she saw, Tauriel had pushed Kili to leave the estate and often. Of late, it was just they two but sometimes Dorlad and Bain would come to let the horses stretch themselves.  

The she Elf raised her leg, absently rubbing her knee. The material gave way to the puckered rents in her thigh, snagging the cloth with its rough texture. Tauriel stared for a moment, listening to the trilling refrain that used her body like an amplifier for its recognition. She had healed of her wound like any good Elf though not completely. A scar is never the same as flesh, but it stops the bleeding and leaves behind a reminder. Life goes on, live it and not waste another second for the greatest present was time.

She had something else to live for now besides the love of her husband. Tracing the webbing scar on her upper thigh, it would be a blemish to a lesser minded individual but to her, the old wound was a symbol of her survival. It marked both times of her life where she was the happiest and the most devastated. Thorin had killed her child but not herself nor her love for Kili. They were together again and life bloomed from that love as spring follows a cold winter. Life, she smiled, the Valar had blessed them with life once more.

 _Ethuil_ came and went without a stir between herself and _Hervenn_. Hundred years past, Mirkwood held a feast as the hours aligned for the couples who wished for a child. The wine would flow as did the dancing couples, into each other or separately, wrapping themselves in garlands of spring flowers or fall leaves. But as the days grew shadowy and life left the forest, less and less children were born. So much care was needed for the life women give to the world, it need not be done in haste or times of danger and woe.

Their joining times together six years previously were of danger and haste. His wounds, the Dragon, his uncle awaiting him at the mountain. So little time for a seed to be planted and gain a foothold in creation but it had against the odds. Smiling still, she hummed their child’s song in light chorus since she now could remember the eldest without the soul writhing pain. They healed each other, scars forming over the old emotional wounds to pave the way for a brighter tomorrow. Tauriel couldn’t change their past, however she would guard their future. This child would grow in her body and would live. This child would have the life the eldest had not.

Thinking back when the hours converged on that night by the river Anduin, her Dwarf loved her so tenderly. How could she ever take herself from him and say no to his touch? She could no more push him away than the Artamirian fish of their host’s crest animate themselves. Passion comes with a price and Tauriel would gladly pay the forfeit. All things that surrounded them made her feel alive: hope for the future, laughter at the antics of birds and small animals, the love of her husband consumed her as much as it replenished. There are other places in this world, they could go and find a quiet place in it to raise their young.

He would want to be away from here, keeping her and their child safe. For truth, she would agree with her husband on that account. There had been too many near misses of her discovery for Tauriel to be comfortable for much longer. A brush too close to her cowl, tipping it to the hairline but not where her distinctive ears were visible. She wouldn’t be able to hide herself in cloaks and scarfs in the warmer weather. Hooded with a shroud about herself would make her stand out in the crowds of thin layered water hues that the people of the city now favored. The House Artamirian slaves knew her identity but if they spoke to others in the city, Tauriel could not know. Tilda had been quite frank when Tauriel had the pleasure of her company, the young girl advising her to be most careful. The somber expression she had worn with just a hint of fear set the Silvan on edge.

The Gondorians, according to Tilda, were fascinated by Elves, their culture and long lives. The great library was filled with accounts of lives of the Numenoreans in glittering style and majesty who rode with Elves and took some to wife. Those who could trace their antecedents to the First Born were ranked as nobility and the daughters of great houses were coveted in the marriage mart. Tilda, for all of her titles of Dale, held prestige not for her blood but her father’s association with King Thranduil of the Mirkwood. The healer Novice couldn’t say what fate would befall Tauriel at discovery for there had been no Elves in Minas Tirith that she knew in the last three years. Tilda’s concern weighted down on the Elf as she picked up a forgotten woodland lullaby and sang to the child that grew out of love.

*********

_Kili’s POV_

He knew he smelled worse than normal, his clothes and body together. The annoying donkey he rode had diarrhea sometime in the night or by Mahal knew that Kili would be cleaning stalls this day and unburdened himself. Ashamed that the stablehand, Jan, might see this offensive state of the stall, he had started early on the mucking out. It had taken time to cart away all of the droppings then scrub the walls where the pony had smeared shit on the wood. The insolent meat sack had to be washed himself due to clumps of manure he had coated himself from his barrel to his tail. The pony was bored and his boredom pushed him to act out. He missed the forays into the wilds as much as Kili did.

Threatening the pony would do no good and Kili was determined as ever to have the piebald menace gelded. Each time he had thought to send for barber or even a decent butcher, Tauriel would snuggle into him to ask softly about getting out of the city. He couldn’t refuse her, never once considered it. The press of so many people was different from what she knew in Mirkwood or even Rohan. The close quarters of thousands was an uncomfortable sensation to his Elf, particularly the ones enslaved. Kili would pack his things as a husband should for their journeys and dream of reducing his Warg issues.

Carefully wrapping the two early roses in partial bloom he stole from the garden into a spare cloth, he suffocated their floral allure. Kili had not been able to resist stealing them on his way to the main house, plucking them swiftly then removing the thorns as he walked. Tauriel loved the garden, he found her walking the stone paths often when she had not been sleeping so deeply. Her lightest touch on the petals brought a sad smile to her lips with Elvan eyes lost in a memory. She missed the Greenwood, the familiar boughs and mossy patches under its canopied arms. He could see it each day they were out in the wilds, her tears at the dead wood across the Anduin, curiosity at the drapery of the trunks that hugged Pelargir’s shores. More than anything he wanted his Elf to have her desired forest, a sanctuary of her own where she was happy.

His wash up was quick with so little hot water available at the moment. Yavien was in the kitchen baking fruit tarts for the morning, causing Kili’s mouth to water. Once she had finished with the stoves and ovens, Kili would put out the large vat that was used for heating large amounts of water for the bathing chamber off the Kitchen. Dorlad and Bain had left already for the public baths close to the spur jutting like a ship’s prow on an easterly course. They took their leisure there but also find the latest word on the roads to the north. Travelers and pilgrims were thickening the walkways on each level, indicating fair weather on some of the roads.

Dressing quickly, in a spare tunic and pants, Kili shuffled though the kitchen as Yavien withdrew a new batch of tarts. Apples and cinnamon saturated the air, making his belly rumble. “Are those common tarts or private ones, mistress?” He gave her a cheeky grin as he sidled closer to the pan.

Yavien gave him a gimlet eye as she scooped a few to join its waiting fellows on a plate. She had not missed the rumble that sounded like an avalanche from his empty guy. “For your lady, mind you give them to her. The Lady Elf is still too thin by half.”

Taking the plate from the housekeeper with a smile, he said. “Tauriel has not been eating much of late but I am try to tempt with her your delicious baking. I will take these up and come back for my dirty things.”

Yavien had been come the mother hen of his nightmares. Built with the same fortitude as his mother, she was known to weld a sharp spoon with a dexterity of a warrior. House Artamirian held the property, however, it was Yavien who was the de facto ruler. Lady Saelwen in her dower house consulted her opinion on several issues, giving respect and receiving it in turn. Yavien was no despot, yet ran the estate with efficiency. Jan told him that the housekeeper had bore the Lord Tarthalion an illegitimate daughter in their youth but the girl had died in childbirth in later years. It explained the feelings of distance and ache he had spied on the trip to the City.

A cloud settled over the housekeeper’s face as she reached to stop him, chasing away her smile. “I have received news that Lord Tarthalion’s son journeys to the estate in the coming days. There was no reason for it that I could find. I advise that your company retire north to Osgiliath as soon as you can.”

“What would he do? Lord Tarthalion gave us leave to be here and rent was paid.” Kili could see her urgency as well as appreciated her warning. The housekeeper’s eyes darted away at his words, and he knew he couldn’t compromise her loyalty to the house. “We could be gone by the afternoon.”

Their possessions weren’t scattered, they could be packed in little time. Bain and Dorlad could acquire provisions for the horses and they could be on their way. There had been light discussion of their route once the spring came to the Lonely Mountain and Dale, of what they would do. Tauriel had told him privately, reminding him of her word and he wouldn’t ask it of her. Elves would end their life before they would risk their honor at a broken pledge. There had been talk of travelling to Grimbeorn’s cabin and she might have solace there until his return. The idea of being apart from her was a ringing blow to his senses.

Yavien brought him back to the present. “The head of House Artamirian is not his father. If he finds the Lady Elf here, I cannot say what will happen. He could never force her.” The grimace on her face did the speaking for her. It wouldn’t be a good situation at any road. “There is already talk in the city of Elves, whether from loose talk from the House or other Fair Folk on business, the gossip isn’t clear. I will care for your things, go to your wife, young Kili.”

She shooed him away, placing a few biscuits and sausage in a handkerchief for him. He mounted the stairs at brisk pace, eager and worried to share his news. Balancing the food and his gift, Kili’s thoughts ran to supplies and crucial things. It wasn’t unexpected, they all knew their time was ending in the City. The lack of planning would stir his Elf but she was the most organized in their Quartet. There was only one gate out and the thought of being trapped or something happening to his love fanned his unease.

Kili nudged open the door, his hands still full of his prizes. He stopped short at the vision before him of his lovely wife sitting in front of the floor to ceiling window. He could still remember how breathtakingly beautiful Tauriel was that day when first they met. He'd have been content to gaze into her eyes for hours, trying to decide if they were green with gold flecks or gold with green flecks. The winged brow of autumn’s color, the darker golds and burnished red mingled in a poetic dance of riotous bounty. She had high, finely sculpted cheekbones and soft, flawless skin that made him feel so unworthy to breathe her air, covered as he was in foul webs. Tauriel had killed the spider she was fighting then speared another with a thrown dagger in breathless exultation. It was the first time she had saved him, and completely stole his heart all at the same time.

He studied her, taking in her quiet reserve with a smile. She appeared so cool, so focused, so quiet, yet her eyes remain fixed upon the slow dance of infinite stars untouched by the morning sun. It was her favorite time, the last brush of night before the splash of day. It had taken time for each to learn the others rhythms, months of care and quiet conversation. Whether they lay wrapped in each other or camping out in Lossarnach or Ithilien under an inky sky, they were together. Laying together, being together, loving each other. It was time they had not had before and each instant was all the more precious. He knew her now, knew his Elf at glance for he had made a study of every sound and look to categorize each part that was Tauriel.

In the dawning sun, she was something new, something hopeful. Her eyes dipped in reaction to the heated glow, turning to him in wonder. Tauriel’s smile eclipsed the bright gold streaming into the room as her happiness grew when she looked at him. It was the same, each day and every moment to watch her recognition of him. He adored her, worshiped her and it humbled him that she felt the same. Love's madness, swinging from static to ecstasy in one wild second.

Many had looked to her with predisposition, thinking to know all there was to know about her immediately, but everything a casual observer’s thoughts would be wrong. Tauriel wasn’t a statue that breathed nor uncaring of the world around them. She was vibrant in ways that were wholly new and entirely of her own making. Passion flowed through her like a river of blood, coursing faster than sound and wind from the trees. Not just passionate love, but for life, from the lowest rabbit to the largest ship upon the Anduin. The sparkle of her joy twinkled in her eyes and every smile.

The last months glided by in a strange resonance of discovery. It had not been all as easy as he might have thought once though. The symmetry they found in life wasn’t perfection as what could be found in a knife or a good bow. Silvans in their closer kin to nature, slept longer than what he had felt normal as the New Year broke into their life. Hours beyond the sunrise into the afternoon and then struggling to free herself from the bedclothes. Afraid that his good wife had contracted an illness here in the foul city, he pulled Tilda aside to express his worry. She too was fond of Tauriel, visiting when her duties at the Halls of Healing allowed for it. Two days slid beyond him when a note arrived by a young boy apprenticed to the hall. Tilda advised it was of no worry but would explain in greater detail when next she came to them at the estate.

The tension had bled from at those words and he fair ambushed the Bain’s sister when she arrived. Tilda had grown but her sense of humor still flourished for which Kili was grateful. The girl was taller than him but she linked her arm with his, telling him of the research she had uncovered. Silvans slept so much more during the winterscape than any other race of Elf save the Ice Elves to the far northern wastes. Tauriel would continue to do so until the hours lengthened in the day, heralding a return of spring. Were she in the Mirkwood, the guards would have shorter shifts and King Thranduil would close his borders for the added protection. Tilda advised more fruits from Dol Amroth if he could find them, but no preserves.

Wistful silences demonstrate unfinished thoughts, Kili’s tended to sputter when he looked upon her form. It would never end, he had seen the same reaction in his brother when he was aware of Sigrid in a room, close by. It was part and parcel of a Dwarf finding his One then having his love returned measure for measure. No shadows would blocked their sun, no evil would hinder them. Tauriel would bask in its warm radiance as she did before him on the lounger.

“You're so beautiful," said Kili, standing in the door, breaking the quiet. "I'm afraid of looking at you and not knowing if you are real."

Her smile reflected the sunlight beyond the window. The shift that rode up her leg revealed a tantalizing amount of pale flesh. "Silly Dwarf." She held her hand to him in invitation to join her. "My life became real when I first saw you. I knew love when you whispered to me of fire moons."

Tauriel relieved him of his plate to make room for herself to crawl into his lap. She curled her longer legs around his to lean forward to brush his lips. The gentle swipe of her tongue pressed him for an answer, pushing warm desire into spaces where chilled concern dwelled. He pulled her close as the kiss deepened beyond greeting into the fledgling want, her moans a sensual accompaniment to the fingers tugging at his braids. The light nip of pain made him gasp into her mouth, his flesh tingling at the rush of the same.

“I have need of my husband.” She sighed along his cheek before dipping into another heated kiss. “My stomach wishes for the food he brought.”

“A Dwarf husband’s job is to satisfy his wife in all things. But eat now, while the food is warm. I will take care of your _other_ needs after.” The smile she gave him did nothing to help his hardened member or aching stones. There would be a moment for that in due course, first she needed to eat. “Shall I serve you?”

Her diamond laugh was purer than the highest quality gemstone. The teasing light from the windows behind them glowed in her creamy hues as her smiles stretched ever wider. This was how he liked to see her, he thought when she swung the plate to her knee, he loved to see her happy and carefree. They had been home for two days from the latest trip, yet she wasn’t sleeping quite so much as she had. Other things had taken precedent.

Stuffing a bit of the tart into her mouth with greedy appreciation, her moans were not sensual yet blissful for another reason. Kili brushed the crumbs away with a laugh. “It is a sad day when food replaces amory. I can’t remember when you attacked your food with such unforgiveness.”

The tart was gone in a flash, causing her to grab another. Kili unwrapped his own meal. “Meleth nin, you are not replaced and never forgotten. What has she used in these? They are so delicious!”

Kili chuckled as he bit into his first biscuit as the last of the third pasty was crammed into his wife’s mouth. “I saw a mix of berrys and early lemons. Last year’s apples and blueberry or-…”

Tauriel shot from the lounger, flashing to the chamberpot to start heaving over its round lip. So stunned was he at the quick action, he could only stare as she voided her stomach in barking fits. Kili found himself when she began to cough in great racking sobs, rushing to her side. Sweeping the long hair into his fist, he held her immobile until she finished. The dry wrench of her body slowed enough that he could pick up and carry her back to the seating. Once she was settled with her coltish legs tucked beneath her, he ran to the ewer to fetch her water.

“Slowly,” he held the goblet as she drank in deep gulps. “I think you ate too fast.”

He took a seat behind her, bracing her against his barrel chest so that she would relax. The violent expulsion was strange for he had never seen her taken ill in last months, nor heard of any illness particular to Elves in general. Kili rubbed her upper arms to the shoulder as her breathing slowed from the mad dash, minutes ago. The concern stemming from Yavien’s news raced into his system as he contemplated the possibility of trying to get out of the city with his wife ill. He started to voice himself when a low melody sprang from her lips as she began to stroke a hand over her abdomen. It wasn’t familiar, a strain of nothing he knew but it touched something in him. A forgotten longing or memory…

“I know this, sort of..” Kili looked at her confused when Tauriel whipped her head around stare at him. “Is it Elvish? Did you sing that for me… before…?”

Before… The word had taken on a coded meaning. The weeks they had together _before_ Thorin had lost his reason and injured them both. Kili accepted that he couldn’t forget that time when their love was new, it was there and it was a part of them both.   He couldn’t go back to those early days and change the events but he wouldn’t look at it as a burden any longer. They had moved forward to the present. Kili acknowledged that Elvish memory was not a Dwarf’s and would never be. How Tauriel viewed their loss was different, painfully so and for that reason alone did he hesitate to remind her.

She watched him in solitude, the still Elvish patience that could be maddening at intervals and a blessing at others. Taking his rough hand in hers, she laced their fingers together over her belly. “What do you remember?”

“I don’t know.” He told her honestly, for he didn’t _know_ yet only felt.

The confusion at her words, at his feelings, scraped him raw. The unknown was met with suspicion and doubt in Dwarven life, new was not positive. She hummed a few lines and the resonance struck him hard in the chest. Kili grappled with his impulses as his breath seized, the adrenaline pushed his limits of control. He wanted to pick her and tuck her into the bed, away from the door, far from people or any danger. A delving, deep and dark, he could spirit her away to a Dwarf stronghold and stand a post. _Protection!_ The palm under her hand shook to clutch at a hilt of any weapon, they lay defenseless on this eyesore of Gondorian fashion. His blood pumped in his ears when she hummed the tune again to the point where it was almost more than he could bear. What kind of Elvish song could affect him so?

“Please, please stop, my love. I can’t bear it and sit still.” She stopped the harmony and smiled at him again with the same beautific grin. Fear welled up inside of him in the wake of old prejudice. “What have you done to me?”

“I cannot say if it is the song, my love, or my body’s response to it that is bothering you so.” Her fingers on top of his trembled, the blunt nails scratching, seeking. “You are here.” Her fingers pressing into his which then pushed slightly into her body. “A babe grows inside me, and it is our child’s song that I sing.”

“A child?” Kili asked dumbly with each muscle in his stout body tightening in response. _A Child?!_

“Yes, my husband. A child sired from Kili out of Tauriel, and who apparently didn’t want berry tarts this morning.” Her laughter was infectious, a bubbling joy that broke through the shock that encased him.

Gently, he rubbed the spot where she pressed his hand as he tucked his face into her neck. A child? A child of them quickened, he thought as tears leaked from his eyes to her fair skin. Kili crushed Tauriel close, fighting back the deep sobs that threatened to break the silence. He was so happy, ecstatic at the idea, the tears baffled him. The thought of a child had stayed with him since Rivendell when he learned of the one they had lost. It had been a secret wish, a dream if he were honest. Kili desperately wanted a part of them to live on after he died that would give Tauriel a reason not to fade.

“This is a gift, more precious than any save your love.” He rained kisses on her delicate ears up to her temple. He didn’t possess the will to release her from his arms, oh not yet.

Tauriel shivered as she laughed. “We have months to go, my love before you might hold your gift.” The Elleth snuggled closer to him, burrowing into his heat. “I wonder if they will have a beard like their father or be tall like me.”

Kili laughed heartily at his wife’s thoughts, for truth, he cared little if the babe grew tall or his beard was full! He loved the idea of child being born to them. The instinctual drive slapped him hard, making his hands shake in sudden need. He _had_ take her from this city! They had to leave, his wife and child needed him for protection! _Protect!_

Lifting her quickly amidst her protests and groans, the Dwarf settled her on the bed but pulled away to begin packing. He would need as knives at close quarters but Orcrist for a long reach. Dressing in the new leather gambeson that Tilda arranged for him, he grabbed the satchels and rucksacks from the trunk at the end of the bed. The wild stuffing of the unnecessaries focused him until a pillow smacked his head, thrown by his ignored wife.

“We have no need to leave today, Hervenn!” Tauriel’s giggles filled the room as she sat up, long sheets of vermillion strands encased her body. “Surely, we might wait for Bain-..”

“No! We must away to Osgiliath. Yavien advised we go and soon. The Lord of House Artamirian travels to the city and I won’t risk you.” Kili looked up to wide green eyes while she clenched another padded projectile. Her surprise was momentary until Tauriel squinted with calculation. “I _can’t_ lose you and I won’t endanger our babe. We leave today from this place. One gate might keep out invaders but it can just as easily keep us in.”

His words were specific and they achieved the desired effect. Erebor had held them prisoner once, Minas Tirith would not. She was out of bed before he could stop her, taking the bags from him to repack. Like Amad had, Kili thought with a smile, when he set out on this journey. Tauriel deftly rolled up clothes and separated others out that were lined for food. They would gather what they could carry now and resupply at the outpost.

“I will tell Yavien that we are leaving today. Bain should be back soon.” Strapping his sword at his hip and quiver at his back, he grabbed several of the pack bags and started for the stables.

Tauriel dressed quickly in the forest gear, laying out her knives and short swords for the twenty or so miles it would take to reach Osgiliath. Kili gazed at her belly before she covered it with a bleached tunic. The Elven bodice she packed, choosing instead a woven boiled leather surcoat that ended at her hips. Similar to the Gondorian plate armor, it wouldn’t stop an arrow but the padded underside with the hard corded exterior would shield her against edged weapons. It had been a gift to her when he commissioned his own. The same metal what was plaited into his shoulders, grooved in strips around her waist. It was the best protection she could wear until he could find a sanctuary for them.

Pausing at the door, he tossed the bags at the landing to return to his love, scooping her up in his arms. Long pale legs dangled over his arms when he kissed her softly. “You have made me the happiest Dwarf. I can’t believe we will have a child.”

Her nose chased his, dancing in tune with her lips. “It is your gift to me, Meleth nin.”

Setting her down, he left her most reluctantly. The urge to barricade them in this room pounded his brain. _Protect !_ Picking up the bags again, he forced himself away to begin the task at hand. It was hard won, and he found himself trembling with nerves while crossing the park to the stable. Yavien could wait until the animals were saddles and ready. There was no reason to tell anyone on the estate of their child. Bain and Dorlad, they would tell on the way. Some secrets should be kept as long as possible.

Kili remembered Fili having a bad reaction to the beginning of Sigrid’s first lying in when he walked into the stable block. The King had not slept for many hours in the night, pacing the anteroom to their chamber with an axe in hand. As the months progressed and he realized there was no danger to his One and Queen, he began to rest until Dawn. Kili couldn’t recall his brother’s reaction being as violent as he felt at this moment. Each shadow contained a threat and bird song was the call of intruders. It was hopelessly confusing how out of control his instincts left him.

Snorting at the donkey who was tied to his stall, Kili went to Daisy first. With the addition of Gilesgal to their clan, the distribution of weight the pony was asked to carry had changed. Likewise, they had spent a tidy sum of the gold that Fili had given him in the intervening months. The money changer loved to see them, even on the street if they were passing by his shop. Kili and Bain had been invited to the Man’s home on several occasions for drinks and dice. The Dwarf could only conclude the usury he charged them paid for the entertainment.

They were paupers by no means, living in a thrifty manner of long habit. The food and grain were not dearly bought and he had enjoyed haggling over their new armor with the smiths at the lower level. There had been a time or two that Kili had slipped a bag of gold to the Dunedain for lascivious purposes. The question of Bain’s education in the bedchamber had been satisfied, though he still at times seemed rather confused at the fuss about pleasurable company. It could concluded that the boy would grow into a Man with loftier thoughts that bent themselves into intellectual avenues rather than those of the sexual congress.

Once Daisy was brushed to fair gleam, he strapped down her blanket then tied the pack harness to her padded back. As a mare, she wasn’t at a comparable size as Warg but she was hardy with a sweeter disposition. Kili scratched her ears when she nickered to him, sniffing for a treat. Looping the packs over the brackets set in the harness, there was space for a few small sacks of grain. If they followed the Anduin upriver, the water issue would be moot but they might have other encounters with those looking for a water source. He wasn’t of a clear mind to go back through Rohan and going south seemed like a longer though safer way. Leading the mare out into the sunlight to a hitched stand, he went back for Gilesgal with his thoughts on their route.

Leading the black filly to the mounting block, he began to curry her down. It was usually easier when one of the others did it but he refused to see his lack of height as a handicap. The mare didn’t care this morning, for truth she enjoyed the attention. Moving to her legs, he tied the led line beside Daisy as he began to pick out her hooves. He had just finished with the last one when Bain and Dorlad broke into the estate at a run.

“Oh good! You know!” Bain told him as he bolt into the stable for Isen. The Stallion screamed in panic at the rush of activity from his rider. “I am not sure when it started.”

Kili ran inside behind him. “Wait! What are you saying? Tauriel just told me, how could you possibly know?”

Dorlad helped Bain get Isen from his stall and into the cross ties to be hurriedly groomed. “How she does know it? Tilda just came and got us from the baths? It will take us weeks but we can hurry. I don’t know what we will face when we arrive.”

The Dwarf started waving his arms at the two Men to get their attention. He was so thoroughly confused, there was too much cycling through his brain. “I have no idea what you are talking about. I have to get Tauriel out of the city today!”

“Of course, you do! We have to go and now!” Bain told him as he checked the hooves and went for the saddle blanket. Isen not in favor of his rider’s haste, nipped at his backside. “I stopped at a grainer on the way back. There will be a supply waiting for us as we leave.”

Kili knew the Man in question, a Gondorian from Dol Amroth that was an old friend of Jan’s the stablehand. He imported his grain from the coast with a better mixture of barley and less corn. The horses hadn’t bloated themselves so deeply in their lax time as a result.

“I have a feeling there are two different conversations going on at this moment.” Kili yelled over the ruckus Isen was making. “Tauriel has giving me some … important information this morning.”

His words didn’t faze Bain but Dorlad stopped to look at him with interest. After a long look, Dorlad erupted into laughter. “I should have bet you money, Bain. Last year, there should have been a wager!”

Kili blushed at his friend’s raw enthusiasm. But the merriment was short lived when Bain said, “Tilda had word from some travelers from the North. Dale is surrounded and Erebor is under siege!”

 

************

_Night in Rohan_

A deep gasp brought her from sleep faster than the scream she barely managed to smother as the last of the disturbing shock faded away. Looking around quickly, none in the house came to her nor was there footsteps on the heavy wood floor. It would not do to alert the inhabitants in the next room of her plans, it wouldn’t do at all. The night was her friend, the soft Voice in her dreams told her, the night was always her friend. Dark had been her dreams of late. A splash of blood, smoke and ruin doused her in frozen sensations that the morning sun could not dispel while others left her hot and aching, her skin alive with raw need.

Time was upon her, the time to make her choice to follow the Voice on the wind or stay to the common drudgery in a life she hated. Her love had left her, not looked at her twice once he mounted his steed and turned for home in the east. The wailing grief deep inside had not calmed in the days after his injury, only increased when he would not ask for her at his side. It was her mother who sat vigil over her cherished one, refusing to allow her to comfort him. Her swain had turned his face from her and it cleaved her soul in two.

The Voice she heard had been soft at first, in dreams late in the night. It rocked her to sleep, feeding her anger by the spoonful to swell her belly in a burning feud. The same Voice peeled away each veil of her thoughts to expose the brazen truth. All of her secret thoughts and dreams coupled in her mind’s eye of her infatuation with her Lordly father’s Rider, fair and handsome as he had been once. Before the Dwarf came, long before the Elf left them. It would conjure images of her love writhing against her form in torrid want, the slick imagined feel of his flesh drove her mad with yearning. The longing didn’t abate in the sunlight, so harsh that even her fingers couldn’t still the ache in her nethers. She loved the Voice too now, even when it frightened her with thoughts of death and war.

It had been no hardship to ask away from the keep and stay in the village. Her mother was on the outs with her father, and pleading with the Lordly parent for a respite from their anger had tightened his face in guilt for what was being enacted before herself and elder sister. So, her father had sent her to the hamlet, half a day’s ride to stay with the Chieftain and his wife who were only too happy for the company. The days passed and she waited and she watched.

She had taken a pallet at the edge of the fire in the front room, far from the occupants. The Headman and his wife slept in a room off the back of the large fireplace, soundly crafted since no snores escaped. She had declined to bed down with their daughter, wanting the freedom of a quick getaway. She dressed in the ember’s glow, not thinking only wishing to be far from here when it was discovered how she stole away in the night’s cover. Bundling her blond tresses with a scarf, she planted the note that would send any pursuers far from her. She had to go, she couldn’t bear the pity any longer for all knew of her unrequited feelings. Her home was not so large as her tendre might be lost in the hurley burley of the daily grind. Each person had known of her regard for the departed Man and would think she rode to him.

The hinges gave no protest in its use as she opened the door but the gust of wind that waited for her almost took control of the door. The satchel of a few food stuffs and a change of clothes banged on her hip falling away as she wrestled with the door and stepped into the darkness. The clink of the latch was unexpected but she redirected down the side of the croft to see if anymore was about. A lone dog, barked halfheartedly at a noise but was too far to be a threat. Snitching from the shadowed eves, she ran to the near paddock that housed her gelding, a stout old fellow who had seen many a Rider. The grey out whiskers scrapped her face in greeting as she tied up his hackamore. It was a kindness to use the rope for him instead of the bit for too many had sat his back and cut up his mouth with their inexperience.

She pushed aside his mates as she led him to the gate. Mounting his back quickly as one born to a saddle, she rode west north west to a new life. She didn’t trust the aged gelding’s eyes in the gloom, keeping him at a lope. The blond girl refused to stumble over a berm or break her gelding’s leg in a hole for carelessness when she was so close to being free. Riding away from the pacing dawn, she told herself that if she couldn’t have the Man who crushed her heart, she would have the Voice and everything it promised her.

The sun caught up with her at last, brightening the world around them. The gelding had slowed, tired from the run, though she judged them to be several leagues from their starting point. A sea of dead grass rippled away in every direction, frozen dead by winter. It was a rugged existence and one she would have bore with her Man at her side but it was not to be. The blond girl took the treeline when it came into view, the last whisper of the Voice had been to look to the trees once she was away.

The day waned into late afternoon when she pulled up to an icy stream for her horse to drink. Letting go of the line, she ate a heel of bread brushing away the crumbs when two Dunlendings stepped from the forest, grabbing the rope about her gelding’s head. Not liking their rough handling, the old horse screamed and pulled away yet meeting her boot to push him forward. The leader of the two, taller than his companion walked forward.

“Strawhead come.” His breath was strong and his open mouth revealed broken black teeth. She was resolved in her decision, though she had not expected wild men.

The gelding didn’t like them, not in the least but they pulled him along, one on each side as they walked into a narrow path, more of hart trail. They didn’t speak circling around large rocks as the cold dampness settled on her shoulders. The light was weaker here and the chill was all encompassing. But there were no doubts, nothing to that said she was making the worst mistake of her life. Sitting on the back of an old grayed gelding being led away from safety and everything she knew, it felt more right than anything had in a year.

The trail broke into clearing and the Fords of Isen came into view. The wild rushing river, tumbled over in foamy spray as it thinned down at the crossing. Looking back over her shoulder, the Dunlendings had taken a short cut, taking off at least a day’s ride over hill country to reach this point. The sun was slinking lower in the west as dusk approached, the last brightness she would know in this life.

The Men led her gelding across at a slow pace, with little conversation to the effect. The horse picked his footing better than she hoped but the cold water splashed them both, wetting the long length of her cloak and the helm of dress. One last time, she looked over her shoulder at the realm of Rohan, home of the Horselords and felt nothing at the parting of ways. Her kin was there but they weren’t her family now. A light ghosting of sound reached her as the last of the day ended, a fell noise of promise and darker desires.

The two Dunlendings stopped her gelding at a stand of trees about miles from the crossing. The boughs were thick here with age, trees of this size she had never seen. The wind blew into their limbs but they stood tall and strong before the gust, proud of their roots in this soil. She stepped into a deeping shade, running her hand over the scaled bark, like armor that her father’s Men had worn. Smiling, she found a chink to one side and picked off, thinking that there was a chink in every suit of plate.

The leader brought her a small clay pot, removing the stopper. Animal hides covered his squat body in layers much like the bark but it also held back the odor. “Here, you drink.”

_Drink, yes, Drink…_

The call of seduction ran hot in her blood as the utterance flicked a hundred tongues along her skin. So strong was the rapture, harder than it had ever been, she closed her eyes and let her head lull. So much, she thought, so much pleasure to be had. Blindly, she grabbed to flask as the sensation became less and less. More, she had to have more of it. Opening her mouth, she drank down the thick liquid, gulping it dry as the Dunlendings began to touch her along sensitive areas, places that had known only her hands.

When she opened her eyes again, the misty color had blown to rotted black of the dead. The oil slick of frozen heat slithered into her soul, eating her will and corrupting the remains. The vile sludge unleashed her, making her more than she had been, and at the same time less than she ever thought she could be. The Mordor filth took and took from the well of her thoughts, poisoning the once beautiful sweet child into a dynastic perversity.

Yanking at their clothes and weapons, she rasped in loud fervor. “ _Need_!”

That night she took both wild Men between her thighs, wantonly beseeching for more at each release. Time elapsed the debasement until the Dunlendings were spent and could not avail themselves of her flesh again. The girl loved the grinding feel of their hairy bodies, the raw smell of their congress and the texture of it on her skin. The commotion of their long night of debauchery rolled over the flat ground to drown in the Fords’ rush as she wailed her hunger to the midnight skies. No stars whited the scene of the trio who bit and clawed each other in sexual abandon, hiding their lighted face from the world below.

As the cold night gave way to a colder morn, the blond shook off her reservations to rise naked and be born again from the bodies of the men whose seed baptized this transformation. Stretching out a hand covered in blood and male leavings, she had offered her maiden’s patent to be a servant of the Great One in the east. A star in that far darkness bloomed red as her blood, his acceptance of her sacrifice and fealty.  

Lifa, daughter of Aeldklif was dead, and Sirn Sadan, the lustful witch of the Uruk hai was born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I were naming this chapter it would be something like "With the sweet comes the sour." I am sure that that part of this story has no appeal but it is an ending for Lifa..  
> In my imaginings, the song Tauriel sings is her child’s harmony. It also makes her release pheromones that being bonded to Kili makes him hyper protective. And we all know that Dwarves go apeshit with kids. The bond between them is Elvish but his instincts are Dwarf.
> 
> Sirn Sadan in black speech means 2nd lover. Herja is the first as Sirn Ashan  
> Ethuil means spring...Iavas.means fall in Sindarin.. the two times a year that an Elf is fertile


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Call and I shall be  
> All you ask of me  
> Music in spring  
> Flowers for a King  
> All these I bring to you
> 
> ~Ivor Novello - I can give you the Starlight~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tauriel's POV.. No really warnings to this chapter

Long miles, restless hating miles. The bedraggled quartet set a murderous pace along the Anduin, the hoofbeats struck a drudge for the fear Kili and Bain felt that hastened their flight. Tauriel had taken Yavien’s advice at their leave, wrapping her head in Gondorian style. Her hair braided and bound was not seen to any and her ears were covered in somber hues. The air still possessed the winter’s chill, necessitating the cloak if she wished it, but her field of vision wasn’t limited as it had by the hood. The wrapping helped her pass as a Gondorian than any other manner of dress might have, solidifying her camouflage.

Osgiliath came and went, allowing them rest for a day before striking out at early morning. The feeling amongst the soldiers was just as tense as her Hervenn, with Mordor staring down at them not far away. The evil of that land was closer, saturating the air with its foul breath. Tauriel’s anxiety was at a fever pitch to get away, and Kili was no better. His fixation on the slinking darkness from the Morgol Vale worried her, causing their child’s song to wane with concern. His explanations were sound for she had the same warning in her flesh, the puckered scars of foul arrow wounds. Her fear was stronger for their child than a possible threat from the East, taking more of her focus than his. Forcing herself to relax had taken time but once she calmed, the chorus inside returned to a tranquil symphony.

The commander of the garrison could spare nothing new of the situation at the Lonely Mountain, only that the Dwarves seemed to be at war with themselves. The cold winter still griped the land, making for icy travel. The merchants who dared the roads only brought grim news. King Thranduil had sent his bowmen to Dale for their King and the city’s protection. Dwarves and their beasts blocked many of the outlying roads, clashing together and not caring who was in the middle. The commander’s biased opinion even in front of Kili was that Dwarves were not to be trusted, their ways were not of Iluvatar. The Dwarves were adopted and soulless, better they stay in their holes in the ground and bother no one with their petty strife.

Tauriel had to leave the Man, angered by his stupidity and blind arrogance. These people looked down on those they didn’t understand or sought to use them for their benefit. Looking out on the ruined city, its age was no different than Minas Tirith, though war had torn it down to its base. Population had been ground down as well, their sensibilities as ruined as their city. The desperation screamed from their hollowed eyes while misery ate at their young.

Osgiliath had been a defense to hold back the darkness, a barrier so that there were free people still in Middle Earth. It was an example of how the strongest shield will break under the weight of time, and thoughtless planning. Men fought with themselves and fought the darkness with no heed of what it did to their world. The collapsed Tower of Stars was a testament to Man’s greed and corruption. The dome was a broken flower whose Palantir seed had been lost in the shifting waters of the river that cut the fort in two. The Kinstrife assassinated this Kingdom and none could see its slow death with Mordor circling overhead to eat at the carcass.

The quartet followed the river instead of going straight though Rohan and the problems they left behind. Dorlad confided that he would go there one day in coming years, when time wasn’t against them. The Dunedain pledged himself to them and their service, refusing to stand aside if there was trouble in Kili or Bain in their homelands. The Man was rare indeed, Tauriel decided as they discussed the route into Dale, whether a sense of adventure had brought him on this quest or not was irrelevant now. His fortitude kept him on the path for the two who now considered themselves his comrades and dearest friends.

Tauriel with her long sight could see Orcs peaking about the sharp rocks and broken ghost cities. Different bands of that race changed out to be replaced by new. Sauron’s minions watched but did not track or hunt them. The Morgal scar on her leg, a painful reminder once a year, tingled the closer they came to the Black Gates. The sensation activated a buried fear, something all Elves thought of when wounded in such a manner. The Elven cure would stop any corruption but the poison would never completely leave her wound. Magic bound it to her the same as it bound her love. Kili suffered as she did, for Tauriel spied him rubbing his knee at different times when he thought no one watched.

The Mouth of the Entwash saw them fording swollen rivers in an effort to not lose too much time on the journey. Tauriel knew of precious few places to cross and Dorlad even less, his knowledge was many years old at best. They made due, resting when possible in the mornings then riding hard in the afternoon. Cair Andros, Nindalf and the Falls of Rauros. Names from childhood learning or memories of campfire stories from the Riders, she caught glimpses from the wind blurred sight atop a galloping horse.

It was only at the Argonath that Dorlad demanded a rest for at least a day. The horses and their riders needed it, so the grumbling was kept to a low. The Dunedain sat at the shore, staring at the colossus before them. The splendor of that age was still in the statues, time had touched them but less harshly as it had in other parts of Gondor. Anarion, Isildur. Tauriel knew the legends of the brothers, children of Elendil who marched with their father during the last alliance of Men and Elves. History had been made in these forests, life had been lived by those who had passed into legend. But once they were Men, fathers to their children and husbands to their wives. Their stories like their legacy was full of tragedy and heartbreak. Looking to Dorlad, he was one of the last of his tribe and not so long lived as his immortalized ancestors before them. He was their embodiment, a hope that their sacrifices were not in vain. Humming to her child, she knew that a parent could wish no more for their progeny.

“You look like them.” Tauriel squatted beside him at the bank’s edge of Nen Hithoel. The water was a long sheet of pale blue, no rolling waves churned its surface.

“Do I? I thought I was too far removed to have any resemblance.” He squinted into the distance at the faces of the cold stone.

“Breeding holds true in any generation.” She smiled to him in the gathering silence. “Your good qualities might not be theirs and their faults need not be yours.” The Man looked to her, his eyes begging to believe her when in his heart he doubted. “I am proud to know you, Dorlad, son of Dirhael. One day, our paths will cross again in happier times.”

Advice is given when there is need, no Elf ever gives that which could not be received with kind intent. Tauriel would call the Dunedain friend, give him a place at whatever table she had in true Dwarvish custom. Kili would do no less for him, calling him Dwarf friend until his last days. The Man took her hand in his, kissing the back for love and friendship. They stood together but what might have been said between them was cut off by a growling Dwarf.

“When my back is turned, I find the one who should have the most sense kissing my wife’s hand.” Kili kicked out a rock from his path as he joined them. “If I thought for a moment she turned her eyes from me, I would geld you faster than you could blink.”

Dorlad laughed but let go of Tauriel’s hand. “You have been saying that of your pony and he still has his balls!”

Tauriel stepped into Kili, pulling him close to her. His hand pressed into her belly, then slid around her waist. It had become a habit of his, a brushing at her abdomen to acknowledge their babe. The ballad would increase at his touch joyfully, their young one knew Kili’s love was true. Digging her fingers into his nap, he shook briefly then was still. He was as weary as she, yet the longing for his touch had not abated. Nor it seemed his for her, despite his gruff snort at their friend.

“Since we are here for the night, I think a good bath is in order.” Kili let go of her body but kept her hand in his. “How much danger lies on yonder shore?”

Tauriel looked far away to eastern banks, the shadows and rocky terrain. Sarn Gebir lay on the farther bank with Rohan’s Eastenmet at their northern shoulder. The creaking wood along the sparse trees gave her no hint of any danger. Tomorrow, Gondor would be behind them with few enemies to bother save some Wildmen, a few Orc bands and maybe time. The clock hands turned against them, what might have befell the mountain would be over by Kili and Bain’s arrival.

“We have an opportunity, Hervenn.” Tauriel whispered, squeezing his hand. “There is a cove some distance away.”

Kili gestured for her to find the trail, though no releasing her hand. The path might have been a sheep’s trail, narrowed and rocky with crushed shale underfoot. Elf and Dwarf navigated the terrain slowly for an ill placed foot might see them tumble down the side. The slope to the water’s edge wasn’t a steep grade but any fall was a danger to their child. Slow and steady, an agreeable choice though the anticipation of being with her husband quickened her step as well as her blood. Nibble grace and agile limbs would save her but Kili might be hurt more than a knock to his hard head.

The cove in question was not deep, with a rock ledge for a roof. Sheltered in a graveled splint in the earth, the path wound to the water’s edge with a suitable windbreak. Tauriel could see the sandy bottom under the murky surface of the lake, guessing that the water was just as cold as it looked. Her Dwarf had no reservations about the temperature, eagerly pulling off his gear with a single minded focus. For truth, the hasty baths of last days were not her favorite nor the need for one to be on duty while the other washed. They may not have so long as they liked due to the cold breeze that blew overhead and off the water but she was with her husband and was content.

Kili, stripped clean to his skin, leaped into the water. He must have thought the water warmer than it was for his shouted profanity blued the air more than the cold. Standing on the lake’s bottom, the water level lapped at his thighs. Gooseflesh sprouted from his legs in waves similar to the ones that rippled from his form out into the lake. He shivered as he lowered himself into the water.

“Is that wise, my love?” Tauriel asked as she stepped in frigid depths to join him, holding her laughter at his shaking figure. “If you linger, I might find myself married to a Dwarrowdam.”

“I thought it warmer than this! There is no ice on the surface!” His teeth chattered, reminding her of a hungry squirrel. “I can’t stay here long.”

Immediately, he began to rubbed his arms and face with course fingers. Soap wasn’t unknown to him but expediency was the issue of the moment. A hot pool, such as the ones at the Lornadab possessed, he would have quite enjoyed. Sweating was not a new thing to Dwarves for they sweat often when working before a fire. Bain had been very verbal about the hot pools where Men sat in the steam to relax, saying that he could feel the tension leaving him along with the sweat.

“It is still early in the spring, Meleth nin. The snows are melting and it is too soon for the sun to warm the lake.” The water was cold but it was the breeze that skated over wet flesh that caused her to shiver.

Her pregnancy had brought more changes to her body than that slight bump at her lower torso. Tauriel knew cold where before it was a slight comfortability issue. Looking at her shriveling fingertips, the heat that slid under the surface of her skin, now centered itself in the trunk of her body. The withdrawal was for the nourishment of their baby but it drained her that much faster.

Large hands took her own when Kili’s face eased closer to hers. “Where are your thoughts, amralime?”

Taking a hand from him to card fingers through his black hair, Tauriel smiled. “On our child, my love.”

Kneeling down to negate their height, the sandy bottom scraped along her buttocks as she settled. Refusing to let go of his hair, she brought him closer for a kiss. His cold chapped lips slipped over hers, warming her like a sun all his own. Tauriel held him tight, breathing his air while his hands bunched her marriage braids against her neck. Oh the love, so much happiness swept through her in endless ripples, she never wanted to let him go.

He broke the kiss to whisper at her delicate ear. “I have a thought worth sharing, something that has been on my mind.” Tauriel pulled back, her long red hair socking up the water to weigh heavily against her skin.

He leaned closer to her, to her face, as if he were going to kiss her again. Kili hovered there, and she felt the heat roaring off his body. Her hand bridged the gap, sliding along his skin to the back of his head. His hair was growing out now, longer still for proper braids though he only wore their marriage plaits. Tangles formed due to her wet fingers and trembling excitement to be here with him.

“Tell me.” Later, she might chide him for the hesitancy, anything he wished to speak was allowed between them.

“I thought to ask Fili if I might take up Thorin’s hall in Ered Luin. Not all of Erebor’s Dwarves have returned nor wished too. Ered Luin is still Durin’s folk as the Iron Hills or Khazad Dum once was.” His eyes searched hers when her questing hands slowed at his speech. “There are Elves too, with the White Harbor not far to the south.”

She knew the old settlement to the North of the Blue Mountains, Lindon, now entrusted to Cirdan the Shipwright. The Sindar of her youth told of the havens and great tall ships that bore away the Elfkind when they began to dream of the ocean. Valinor awaited them, beckoning them home to their kin who went before. She had never seen the waters there, nor smelled the salt in the air. But it wasn’t a dead feeling of loss, not when her love stood in her arms.

“The Iron Hills has a king there. Does this mean you shall be one as well?” Tauriel schooled her expression, refusing to give way to thoughts of Dain. Her memory of the Ironfoot was never fond, nor did she reach for it often.

Kili shook with cold as he began to rub rigorous at himself to scrub the dirt and smell away. “No, I would take a Lord’s title.” Her husband’s face tightened at any mention of his cousin. “Dain took the title of Thane after the battle of Azanubizar. He was the only one of the Line of Durin east of the Misty Mountains, when the rest went to Ered Luin. Thorin didn’t object especially after the loss of his father, Nain and so many of Iron Dwarves, so long as he bent a knee to Erebor.” Kili reached for her then, pulling her close to kiss her shoulder with cold chapped lips. His beard scratched her sensitive neck as his lips wondered south, earning a ripple of pleasure. “Fili didn’t ask that Dain step back from it, having been King longer than Fili, himself had been mature. It was a mistake but nadad wouldn’t be moved.”

The warm rush of his hands on her back, pulled forth a sigh of contentment almost making her forget the conversation of their future. Whether it was by design or a happy accident, she could not know. The harmonies of her Fëa and child lulled her in her husband’s arms. Tauriel had no idea of what a Lady of any Dwarf delving’s responsibilities included, though it might not be any different than what she had seen with Saelwen, Yavien or Alfgivia. She knew she would be looking to Kili for guidance if it was his choice to settle in the Mountains of his birth.

“Thorin’s halls are not completely underground. The Blue Mountains were broken in Wars of Wrath and are not so tall as the ones you have seen. I need a place I know, somewhere you can be protected and our child will grow without fear.” His consideration made her smile, his worry that she couldn’t live underground in a Dwarf hold so far from the stars. Kili had forgotten Thranduil’s caverns and the heavy canopy of Mirkwood forest. “You would be the queen of my heart, though.” His lips pausing at her collarbone before his teeth indented their presence on her skin. “Tauriel, Lady of Ered Luin. Beloved of Kili.”

“So many titles and all I want is you.” Tauriel met his passion with her own, her words coming in ragged bursts. “Ered Luin is the home of your heart, so there too shall I dwell. If you want to take up the mantle of Lord, I will stand at your side as your Lady. Our children will grow there and be safe.”

Kili lifted her from the pool, his thick arms bearing her slight weight with ease. Their kisses became ardent, denial of their physicality on the road lent a desperation to their first coupling. The sun dipped into the west, taking the little warmth with it. Dusk fell, reminding Tauriel of the dangers so close to their position, the dangers to her love. With regret, she pulled her husband to the others, their interlude ended.

**88**88**

The next morning was not an easy one. Her stomach rebelled at the food, making her wish for mint leaves or at least some of the Rohir gingifer root they used for colic. Looking at the cut mash warming over the fire, she knew it was the blandest thing possible to eat and still her belly advised her against it. She settled beside Bain to attempt some of the hard biscuits they still possessed while waiting for Kili and Dorlad to join them.

“I have been meaning to ask you, Tauriel. In light of your lying in, might you consider allowing a union between Isen and Gilesgal? I wonder at what a foal might be of their pairing.” Bain asked as he drank his coffee, shivering in the cold morning.

Tauriel flinched for a moment at the suggestion, a reminder of her inattention. She had taken to riding Gilesgal much to Flandif’s chagrin in the last days. Her bond with the mare gifted by Aeldklif was not as it should be for the length of time they had been together, guiltily she privately vowed to remedy that in coming weeks. Flandif resented the pack, bucking and crow hopping at the indignity, yanking back on the lead rope to get Tauriel’s attention. Dorlad had tried to take her rope for a while but she would near unmanageable with him, savagely biting his gelding’s tail at one point.

“It would make a fine foal indeed, but Gilesgal is too young.” Taking some water to ease the biscuit’s progress in her stomach, she continued. “Besides, you have no notion of Isen’s lineage. I think it would hurt you terribly if it were proved that was too close of kinship between them and the foal was deformed in some way.”

She could not do that, Tauriel knew if that Gilesgal bore a foal that was deformed or untrainable she couldn’t put the animal down. The Rohir kept close records of their horses, so that no bloodlines crossed closely. It was a reason probably to her mind that Isen when found, was given away. Their animal companions had a close sensibility to them, she could feel the mare’s inquisitive nature at times. It was a fledgling sense that she had seen in young Elflings. Losing a foal by her mistress’ hand or by natural selection would scar that feeling of curiosity and Tauriel would not do that for the world.

“True. Isen would be most protective, I think. Maybe a filly of hers?” Bain gave her a sideways grin as he looked to her. “Though all the ponies at Erebor are going to have to find a stool to stand on.”

Tauriel stilled at his side, forgetting that he didn’t know her’s and Kili’s conversation. “I will not go to Erebor. Kili and I will travel over the Misty Mountains with Dorlad once you are safely home.”

Bain’s shook took him aback for a minute. “But..Kili.. Erebor..what?”

Tauriel interrupted him. “He has no wish to live in the Mountain. Old shades and deeper pain. Kili will see you home and then we will take up Thorin’s Halls in Ered Luin by his brother’s leave.”

She could see the confusion on Bain’s face, worry, then sadness. For almost a year, he, Kili and Dorlad had been together and formed a close friendship. Theirs was a kinship of blood but also love. The awareness that the young Prince of Dale had received on this quest was more, deeper for the people he had met and the things he had seen. He would always look at life now with a new eyes and different thoughts.

“Our journey has taken us far, but yours is beginning.” Bain said quietly.

“This isn’t an ending, my friend. You will always be dear to us.” Handing him the waterskin, she squeezed his hand. “You could always come to Ered Luin, see the west and the Shire?”

Whatever might have been said else was brushed aside when Kili and Dorlad returned. The horses refreshed were almost eager for the saddle and bit, prancing on the road to kick up dervishes in dry air. The company stayed on the left bank of the Anduin, avoiding the crossing into the Brown lands at the South Undeep until they were further away from the shadowy opposite shore. Tauriel could feel the menace, knew that it was growing to spread its malignancy further and further into the west. The Argonath, the great sentinels of Gondor could not hold back this evil with outstretched hands.

Dorlad’s attention was centered on the ridges as they rode on beyond the ruin. Tauriel felt pain in her chest, an odd sensation for there was no wound or enemy in her sight. The lands of the Entwives gardens, a place of magic and happiness. Her mother had told her stories of it and the trees who came alive to talk to each other. Now, nothing grew here, no trees of any sort nor even grass. The great Deceiver had driven the Entwives away, destroying their solitude.

Tauriel shivered in the saddle, the young mare stumbled but recovered quickly as if she too detected Tauriel’s unease. The creeping evil had not left these lands, only lying dormant for its master to awaken it. Looking to the barren cliffs and dead land, not so different than the marshes of stagnant water where dead faces awaited the susceptible. Orcs might trigger it again, may draw the horrid wickedness back into the land of the living. She had felt it in Gondor, Minas Tirith, and now here. Was there anywhere at was safe for them?

They dropped in exhaustion at the town of Langhold in the Woid region of Rohan. The road they found was not so well constructed as the Great East Road but they would not so heavily accompanied. The population were suspicious, keeping to themselves nor offering news of what was happening to the far north. The hovel the quartet took on the outskirts of town was better than the cold ground though the bandits who attempted to steal the horses faired the worse. Bain took one with his Elven staff while Tauriel sliced the hamstrings of his partner. The quartet checked in their complaint the next morning but none of the inhabitants cared to do anything about it. Long subjugated to the brigands, they were happy others bore the brunt of it.

The Rushgore marsh was a haven for the nefarious Men who bore no trade other than to take from the unwary. Kili was most adamant to take Parth Celebrant then push for the Eorlsmead Tower, hoping that the monolith would provide a break to the cold winds that beat them down the further north they travelled. If there was a merchant caravan that used this area, it would have been heavily guarded and virtually unseen. There were Riders of Rohan, patrolling this sector for the Marshall but it was sporadic at best. So close to Fangorn’s edges, the thieves preferred the wetlands with good reason since the water didn’t come alive in the same manner as the trees.

Tauriel could feel Kili’s anxiety, his driving need to get home to his brother. The constant push to be on the road had sapped her reserves but she herself, refused to allow rest if the others were up to the saddle and the horses held their spirit. She wouldn’t be the reason for the delay, Tauriel told him time and again. The babe was well, giving her no indication that there was distress. The constant exhaustion and troubled belly was hard to bear but the Elven tenacity stilled her tongue and forced her to horseback each day.

Plains goats dotted the terrain in fluffy knots of mobile bleating. Dorlad and Kili took down a kid and lame young ram for the meat, dressing them quickly to fight off the Rock Worms that scurried from hidden crevices at the smell of blood on the wind. Tauriel turned from the sight to empty her belly of its breakfast as meat and certain smells had no appeal. She had no issue with jerked meat, the salt blinded her tongue to the actual flavor. The bite of the smoked aroma at the back of her throat as Bain and Kili worked on preserving the meat, drew the wildlife who had hopes of a meal of their own. She wasn’t sure what was worse the smell of the blood or the bile that ensued.

Sitting at the fire that night with weak tea, Kili asked her. “Would you be averse to staying at Grimbeorn’s? I can take the Forest Road for faster travel?”

Tauriel drank her cup, reaching for some hard bread they had traded for in Langford. “I can, but stay on the path. Thranduil has no qualms of jailing you again. I know of ways but others in the forest know them too, you would be too close to the King’s halls for their comfort.”

Reaching for him, she soothed her thumb over his knuckles. Kili smiled. “I doubt my jailer now would be as pretty as my wife.” Looking across the plain to Fangorn, he sighed as the smile left him. “I don’t know of the Lady of Light nor her people. Would they welcome us there?”

“I do not know. The Lord and Lady of the Golden wood were not of my knowledge. Only King Thranduil or Lord Elrond could say to that end.   It would be best to avoid it if we can, The Galadhrim have longer memories. They have no love for Dwarves.” Tauriel stirred restlessly, suddenly afraid of their course. Many of the marchwardens were once of Beleriand far to the west and had no reason to allow her husband to live.

The next day, the quartet set a grueling pace with Tauriel urging them forward. The ideas which circulated in her mind before sleep came to her later in her dreams. Her Dwarf, cut down by a marchwarden who cared not for her screams. The she Elf had no contact with those Silvan save the few parlays of her King with Lord Celeborn. Both were Sindar with a common history, yet their people didn’t mingle in such close quarters as an Elven feast.

They crossed at the Fields of Celebrant to take the east side of the river but the Anduin was heavy was snowmelt. She wanted away from here, any amount of distance to keep Kili and the others from harm. It was only after they crossed the Celebrant river that Tauriel first caught the first sighting of the Greenwood in her six long years of exile. The flutter under her skin took a confused melody, unsure of her mood. Rubbing the padded surcoat was not the same as her hand on the skin but it would suffice for now. Tauriel could not explain the feeling of those trees to the north, nor could she stop herself from riding closer. Kili shouted to her but she pressed on, allowing Gilesgal to have her head in a pell mell ride to the verdant blockade only to stop at the Anduin’s swift moving border.

The average individual will return to the places they hail when the end grows near to have a last bit of familiar; to trample faded corners and pencil in new lines. She had buried her childhood here and there. It waited for her, all those years away, to come back and dig it up. The trees waved out gnarled browned fingers in the wind as the boughs creaked hello to the wayward Elleth, attempting to usher her home to its leafy depths.

Stopping short of her goal produced an ache in her chest for the familiar, the things she had left behind. Friends, the awareness of six hundred years of her own history could be found there. This was the closest she had come to it and the life she once had. A hand on her leg drew her back to the present, to life she had now. Looking at her Hervenn, the one she loved, Tauriel read his concern and fear. He thinks I could leave him? Wiping the tears that blurred him, she brushed them into his hair with a smile, beaming at him with all the love that lay pent up inside.

“The Greenwood.” She told him simply, looking back to it but keeping a hand upon him. It was a grounding for him, not her.

Tauriel needed him to understand that feeling, that while it had been home once, she could never go back to it. The Mirkwood would occupy a place in her childhood thoughts, and previous life. Seeing it again, the woods so alive, filled her with profound joy. She might look and dream but go no further. The destruction of Dol Goldur shoved away the threat of the Deceiver but Tauriel knew not if Thranduil let patrols venture so far south now. Such information was unknown to her, yet her exile prevented her from setting a foot into the treeline’s shadows.

Turning away was difficult, harder than she could imagine. Dorlad and Bain looked at her with mixed feelings, confusion but heartbreak too. The Dunedain more than the others understood her urge to touch the bark of memory that grew tall there. He knew feelings of being lost from his homelands. Minas Tirith was the closest he may come save living with his tribe in a village, yet even there it was all wrong. It was why Tauriel had not wished to stay in Rivendell, surrounded by Elves who knew of her past and all of its pain. It was familiar in that sense but it wasn’t home.

A brown shade emerged from bunching of trees behind the quartet, parting from them as if he were once part of their bough. The Elf was tall then Kili who was still horsed. White blond hair was braided back from his face in hunter style as one of the Galadhrim might. An arrow lay knocked in the bow at his right hand with the left resting on a knife hilt. Either would cause destruction, it just depended upon his aim. Trapped against the rushing river, Tauriel breathed deep to gather her control as she stared down the marchwarden.

He looked to her, taking in all of her at a glance from her marriage braids to her Mannish surcoat and tunic. Refusing to be cowed by the flickering eyebrow, Tauriel gestured with her hand in peaceful welcome with the appropriate salutation. He gave in kind after a moment’s consideration though when Tauriel raised her head high to minutely flick out her braids. She loved her Dwarf, no one, not even a Galadhrim would make her feel shame for it.

“I am Rumil of Lorien.” It was polite and pitched low for a greeting. He didn’t offer Sindarin for which she was grateful, choosing instead the common tongue out of curtesy. “My Lady asked that I meet your company and extend an invitation to Calas Galadhon. Their guests are most eager to make your acquaintance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Lady Galadriel… this chapter was supposed to have her in it but I swear, it got so far out of hand. I wanted the meeting to have its own chapter any way.. Yes there are several people there.. lol But not Saruman because he has some ladies to take care of now.  
> Gingifer root is the anglo saxon word for Ginger. Ginger was a spice that was traded by Romans and did make its way to England.
> 
> I am hurrying this along to give some content to their journey. Yes, under normal circumstances, it would have taken at least 5 chptrs of off side sexual stuff. I am pushing forward with this so that the worst happens faster. IE: Dain, Fili and all the fun dwarves..Its been six months, wonder what they have been up too ....


	55. Chapter 55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody loves somebody sometime  
> And though my dreams were overdue  
> Your love made it all worth waiting  
> For someone like you
> 
> ~Dean Martin - Everybody loves somebody~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The LothLorien chapter!!!!
> 
> Lots of people, old and new.. some sex Kili's POV

"There is a Dwarf amongst them, a naugrim. I ask you stay from the proceedings, my lady." Celeborn's back was quite rigid as he stared far to the borders of their kingdom. The stiff posture was a physical manifestation of a stiffer mind.

Galadriel said nothing to him at the first, letting his opinion and thoughts blend into hers before she explained. No, her husband despised Dwarves and the ones he had been exposed too had tried to kill him or his kin. The Grey Elves who had settled Caras Galadhon after those destructive wars were wary of the Children of Mahal, the old remembrances wouldn’t allow them to move beyond the pain. Galadriel was not so foolish to expect them too, nor would she ever ask that of her husband. But still, these Dwarves of their current age carried not that stain of that war, had not been alive to see the truly vicious side of a calm Elf. Kili, son of Vali, was completely removed from that like the rest of their kin.

"He harbors no malice but fears for his wife.  The Silvan is bearing and pushed herself too hard for the life she carries."  Galadriel's awareness stretched far in the golden wood, each branch and trunk a cadet extension.

“The faithless one.”

This brought a flash of annoyance to the bearer of Nenya, a coursing at thoughtless words. Galadriel knew not the Silvan who had crossed into their lands but had been told of her pain, read it in the minds of those who had contact with the she Elf. Galadriel would not tell a fellow ruler how to govern his people, that was his domain, but Thranduil had made bad choices in his long life that had led to this result. Tauriel of Mirkwood had loved and her choice to follow her heart had cost her so much heartbreak. The pain was still there, in thumping echoes that radiated from her _Fea_ , might always be there, diluted down by years of peace and the love of their children. The Lady of Light would no more chide her for those long ago actions than she would a cat for eating a mouse. There were things in life that were as natural as breathing, to be gifted with a mate was one of the most precious.

Galadriel crossed the room to her husband, running a hand down the rigid set of his shoulders. Honor was all to an Elf, wisdom was gleaned from their long lives that fed into that same honor. The experience to know the difference in the right thing or the easy thing, to stand aside or act upon convictions. The love of an Elf for a Dwarf might have been an impossible thing once, but their world was changing each moment of every day. No, Galadriel thought, she would not call the Silvan faithless, she would call her hopeful.

Like the husband of their child, Galadriel might glimpse a future, could see a possibility. There would come a time when all life in Arda fought shoulder to shoulder for the freedom to love as they might, to live without fear. They could not be so choosy in their allies once the darkness emerged again nor lay blame for following one’s heart at the cost of their head. An Elf who loved a Dwarf would save the children of her child when none else in their world could.

“There is much this Silvan will accomplish at the side of her love. Their children will grow as Elrond has foreseen.” A smile graced her lips as Celeborn turned from the panoramic views of the forest. “Gandalf will help them too.”

“I cannot trust an Elf who has disavowed. Not in these dark times.” The words that were unsaid, the lasting hurt weighted heavily between the couple.

Celebrian’s fate had been too harsh and oh so painful, to the parents, the husband and the children she had left behind. Her leaving for Valinor had saved what was left of her sanity for there was no rest to be found for her here. Only the mourning of her loved ones, the thoughts that they might all be reunited again gave each member faith. It was why Galadriel insisted that Arwen come to the Golden wood, to instill in Celeborn that while his beloved daughter had sailed, her evening copy still lived.

Arwen, Elrohir, and Elledan. Celebrian’s children. It was a difficult thing for her husband to trust these precious ones to an Elf who had walked away from the responsibility of her realm. If Galadriel had not seen it, if Elrond had not asked, the company would have been warned away at the Celebrant’s edge. But the Peredhel’s vision held for six years, even the Lady of Light was swayed to his point of view.

Arwen possessed none of these gifts of her bloodline for which Galadriel thanked Aule each night. Her father’s visions, the strength of Fea to withstand the Mirror, it had passed her by. Her’s was a different course in life, a different path from her family, if only her father would let her travel it.

The Twins, Elrohir and Elledan had a different task in this life, to protect and keep separate the Daughter of the House of Elrond and the Heir of Elendil. Never a likely thing, Galadriel thought when Celeborn turned to face her, fate tries again and again to rearrange the path that mortals and Elves seek to alter. But for their love of the principles and the respect they held for their father, they stayed their course.

Love, life and so many variables to the age they lived.

Galadriel traced an absent finger down her lord’s smooth pale cheek to cup a strong jaw, heavier than many of their race could boast.  He was her husband, the acknowledged other half of herself. They had been together without sundering longer than a generation of Men could remember, not since the fallen of her friendship with Melian the Maia. He was her strength, her ties to the world more vast than thought might encompass. As a bearer of a Ring, her power was greater than his, yet he still sought her protection, trying to keep her safe. The truth was never far in those actions, the basest point of it. Life was not worth living if they lost each other.

“I shall find you after the receiving. Rumil is bringing them, and I shall join the assembly at the ending?” It was a concession to his worry, though Galadriel felt no malice from the company. Bain of Dale held no love for Elves but he would not accost any of her people.

A glint of amusement sparkled in Celeborn’s eyes as his hands found her waist. He was never scared of her, not before the crafting of the rings nor after. “That will serve, my love.”

*************

They travelled in a single line, Kili in front of Tauriel who rode before Bain and Dorlad at the rear. The Elf, Rumil, led them from the river, moving at speed while the company moved at a walking gate. Their guide was quick, taking a low rising path instead of the steeper hills that would get them closer to heart of the Golden wood much faster. There were steeds, the Dwarf was sure, that the Elves of Lorien rode but he couldn’t see their markings. An occasional hart leapt from cover, startled by the quiet Marchwarden who stayed just ahead of them.

There were eyes on them, Kili knew, far in the tree cover. The sunlight here was an oddity, blinding in patches to be muted in others. It was most effective in concealing Rumil’s fellows from view. A quick flash here and there or an unseen snap of some twig that might have been another surprised animal were the only indicators. Part of him wearied at this game of hide and seek in a place where the wood gleamed gold as its name with boughs of yellowed leaves instead of the rich green.

“Why do the others not join us?” Kili said at last as Warg blew out a breath.

This side encounter bothered him, it was time taken from the road. There was war upon his brother and he wasn’t there. Fili had protected him, stayed by his side in good and bad times. Now, there was an enemy to face and Kili wasn’t there to protect his nadad, his Thane in turn. The long winter they spent in Minas Tirith lounging about the Artamirian estate could have witnessed them circling through Dol Amroth then up the back side of the coast to Eriador. They might have been home a month ago, he thought hastily. Tauriel stirred in the saddle behind as she looked to the trees. Yes, they might have been on the road and home but he would have been separated from her that much longer. His Elf might not be bearing his child.

Tauriel had not put her bow away, nor did she made any movements to her quiver. “It is their duty to watch, not engage. Rumil was asked but the others will watch us.” And so she watched them in turn. The idea of an arrow piercing her had him sweat with unused adrenaline.

The Elf in question stopped to look at his wife, his gaze almost boring through her Dwarven shield. “She has the right of it. You are strangers to us, so therefore must needs watching.”

He leapt away again, skipping the downed log to disappear over the hill. For a race of so few words, this Rumil had spoken more today than he might in a year’s time. The constant flow of any conversation was lost to the Elves as a whole. Their guide was solicitous where others might have taken offense, but his love didn’t anger at the abruptness of the departure. Probably quite used to little exchange until the Dwarves invaded her home. Tauriel sat back in her saddle to stare at the Elf’s direction in the quiet inscrutable way of their kind. Bain mumbled something about being rude that make Kili snicker.

The hectic pace of their headlong flight from Minas Tirith left a grungy feel to their procession compared to the fresh warden who danced away in cleaner gear. Too many days in the saddle covered them in mud, sweat, and undefinable things. Tauriel, who always found time in the morning for her water absolutions held a smudge or two along with a few twigs from the woods south of the Celebrant. Kili didn’t bother to sniff himself to know he was passing ripe at the moment along with Bain and Dorlad. He had hopes that their hosts would allow them to refresh themselves before any formality. At least, Lord Elrond had been so gracious after his uncle’s less than perfect greeting. Those fountains were quite nice, too.

Their guide awaited them at a small meadow before a large ring of trees. The postern hills to their right side was both windbreak and natural fortification. The Lady and Lord could not have found a better defensive spot to plant their trees and make their home. It was majestically wondrous and the awe upon Tauriel’s face made all the difference in coming.

After her long flight to the Greenwood, fear gnawed at him deep down. She had been a hunter in those woods for more years than he had been alive, of course his Elf missed the trees. The expression of longing was so acute, he felt tears prickle and sting. Tauriel had given up her life for him, what little she had asked of her husband were small things in that light.

Having been together constantly for so many months, her reserve was not like the Elves that broke from the shades in hunter clothes. She was still fierce, sharp with her blades and bow yet, more approachable than she had been years ago and certainly more than 6 months ago. Time was changing her as it was changing him. These fellows may not welcome so liberated an Elf as what rode into their forest, but Kili loved her all the more for her attempts at integration.

An Elf of same coloring as their guide walked forward with two more at his back. The leather armor of and vambraces were of Elvish design with the long lean sword at his hip. “I am Haldir, marchwarden of Caras Galadhon.” He bowed his head but his eyes flickered between Kili and Tauriel, dismissing the Men behind her. They aren’t the threat here, we are, Kili thought as he nodded in turn. “My Lord, Celeborn, would bid you welcome. We will escort you from here.”

Kili dismounted, watching each one and their hands. The feeling he got from them was wariness, a stray word or neglectful action would find them on the receiving end of some very angry Elves. Dropping the reins, he walked to Tauriel who wobbled slightly when her legs touched earth. Immediately, Kili’s hands grasp her wait to steady her while she found her composure. He knew they were watched, knew that they looked for any weakness to be exploited if there was need. Uncaring, his hand smoothed across her belly only to be stopped by her gloved one.

“Are you well?” He whispered though they were heard as if he had shouted at her. “I don’t know how much further it is.”

“I will be fine, Meleth nin.” She whispered back and squeezed his hand for comfort.

Taking the first step, Tauriel joined the marchwardens, handing over the reins and lead to her horses. Kili did the same. He had no illusions that he would be allowed to care for Warg and Daisy here, likely segregated in a distant place where the quartet could do no harm. These Elves were a mystery to him, never had they approached the Golden wood though his mother had mostly likely sent gifts of greeting as she had to Elrond. Kili had no memory if they had been received favorably since he had no interest in the politics at the time.

Talk of the Lady of Light had been in quiet hushed tones, calling her an Elf Witch of terrible power. Gloin and others with no love of Elves spoke often of why ever would the mountain bound Durin’s folk have need for allies amongst the tree shaggers and woodland fairies. The answer was always the same from each. The Lady Galadriel was one of the strongest of her kind, a ringbearer like Lord Elrond. She was an Elf of surprising power and resilience. War was a constant in Arda, clans made war with each other for profit or gain, fell creatures sought to kill all that they could. It was during those dark times that your friends should always outnumber your enemies, Fili would shout to them.

Tauriel kept a watchful eye as they walked towards the monstrous trees. So tall that they had to be magically grown, Kili thought as Bain and Dorlad whispered at their back. The Dunedain had been suitably impressed by his expression, taking in everything that he could. The Dwarf had no notion if he had come here before, or any Man had seen these sights before this day. Certainly, no Dwarf had to his memory.

They crossed into the treeline, breaching the barrier to a glorious sight. Massive thick trunks rose from the ground in twined pairs or singly tall far beyond his sight. Elves worked at general tasks like normal people which surprised Kili for some reason, his thinking had never extended to a daily Elvish life. The Rivendell Elves were a scarcity, moving in the wings unseen. This place brought back images of Ered Luin, the life, its people and the homes themselves. It was built of a camp mentality, in clusters for quick defense. There were low one story buildings along the bases of the widest trees, communal places for those not of the marchwardens. The trees old as they must be, held covered stairs that wrapped in ivy construction all the way up the trunk to the top. High above them were lighted platforms with curled mushroom suites that barnacled to the living wood.

Where Thanduil’s palace had felt wild, animalistic and Imladris had a quiet contemplation to its natural surroundings, Caras Galadhon was an uneven mix of the two. The Elves paused in their work to watch quietly, looking to the marchwardens who escorted them. Haldir nodded to a few of the most curious but said nothing further. Kili could understand for the most part, it was as if a Dunlending had come for tea and none knew what to make of it. They were not prisoners, nor were they treated as such. The watching Elves resumed their tasks or walked away without a look of acknowledgement to the strangers in their midst.

The quartet were shown to alcoves at the lea of three trees, the roots punching above ground in gnarled benches and coves for bedding. It was richly done, comfortable in more than he had expected. A large stream flowing in laughing refrain behind them sighed over rocks in its path. There was separate bathing for males and females they were shown, but Kili refused to allow any distance from Tauriel. He could feel her unease here, wondering like she how long the courtesy would last for a banished Silvan of Thranduil’s Greenwood. Haldir said nothing more save to advise they would be shown to his Lord in due course.

“Come, love, let us bath.” Kili found cloths laid aside for them, drawing her to a sheltered section of the brook. Tauriel said nothing, though she brought a blade with them for no other reason that she could.

Along the lighted shore moved a ghostly constrained apparition of a woman in white.  The mists parted from her slinking back to their origin, as her bare feet moved by stone and grass.  It was in her eyes once they alighted upon them, wild and gorgeous like a living flame that in itself burned the condensation away. She was savage and superb, magnificently alien in the solitude. There was something ominous and stately in her deliberate progress, the long stalk of a lean bird of prey. In the hush that had fallen suddenly upon the whole sorrowful land, the immense wilderness, the colossal body of the trunked and mysterious life seemed to look at her, pensive, as though it had been looking at the image of its own passionate soul.

Maybe it did. Maybe, the land was as much a part of her as it was its own, claimed and melded together into an Elf of most frightening intensity. There was no doubt she was beautiful, aware and self- contained in that armored skin. Hers was the beauty of wild places, Kili surmised as he watched her. He knew without being told that he glazed upon the Lady of Light, and in doing so, the light caress across his mind startled him. Kili wanted to recoil at it, to pull away. The touch of another to his most intimate part angered him for it wasn’t Tauriel, not her familiarity under his skin. The feeling receded at Tauriel’s gasp.

“Kili!”

Looking to his wife and her stricken expression, Kili crossed to her quickly. He scooped her into his arms to hold her close before taking a seat on a bough. “Shhhh.. no need to fuss.”

But there had been a reason, another had come between them for an instant with a connection that was stronger than what he had with Tauriel. He felt his Elf clutch him tightly when he looked over her shoulder at the ridge. The Lady was gone, leaving them as quietly as she had appeared. A test of sorts, to look into his mind and learn of his intent.

“I felt her, though you. An echo of so much omnipotence. It was the Lady of Light.” The words were spoken against his neck in rapid bursts with steely fingers digging into his back.

“She’s gone, ậzyungậl.”

It was ineffectual, neither felt the residual glow of the Lady but he wanted to say something that might make his love feel less afraid. Nothing came to mind readily, so he held her close to kiss along her neck. The Lady Galadriel had battled the forces of darkness at Dol Guldor, the Necromancer and prevailed. A Dwarf and his wife were no match for her, never in the same class. The imbalance didn’t make him happy, not in the slightest. His worry would not be resolved in this manner, but they were considered _invited_ guests of her husband, Lord Celeborn who had no real love for Dwarves. Being guests and acting politely, they stood a better chance of learning the answers to some of their questions. Mayhap, Lord Celeborn knew of this war at Erebor.

“You wash my back, I’ll wash yours.” Lifting Tauriel before she could protest, he walked into shifting stream. Clothes and all.

**********************

Sometime later, Kili found himself standing at the bottom of a winding stair. Up, up, it went. The snaking ascendancy glowed with low lights before ending in a platform higher still. The branched foliage formed a honeyed ceiling of mellow warmth. The leaves might come into view as being actual green the closer he got but as a Dwarf he wasn’t eager to leave the ground. He had no wings to fly if it were necessary, nor the buoyant agility that his yasith possessed should they step wrongly upon the path. The solid weight of a Dwarf born of stone anchored him to the soil with a steadfast resolve of the Great Smith who had blessed his children. He had no real desire to leave the solidity beneath him.

Bain huffed a little, walking around Kili and Tauriel to take the stairs two at a time. Dorlad chuckled like he could read Kili’s thoughts but he waited, allowing them to proceed him. The Dwarf took a minute longer, before he too mounted the stairs. Bain was a ring ahead of him now with no thoughts to his safety. All the time they had spent on the road together would be for naught if he ran into an ambush when he thought he was safe.

The round feeling of always climbing right as they walked made him slightly dizzy. The stone steps were finely chiseled to merge seamlessly into the wooden trunk. Kili knew not what power might have brought this about only that a Dwarf would never trusted stone to a tree. He could hear Tauriel behind, sighing in pleasure with her hands rubbing the smooth bark as they climbed. Smiling to himself, he promised her silently that wherever they lived, she would have trees in her life. And stars, always stars. The memory of many nights seeing her glowing face turned to the sky in loving admiration of the twinkling light. He would give her starlight, anything she asked so long as he had her.

The high ascent ended, dumping them onto an oval platform that connected two trees together. There had been other stairs on their climb that went to different areas but Kili had followed Bain and the Princeling had led them here. The leafy canopy was buffeted by an interlocking web of stone and wood, fashioned like all Elven architecture in long curved lines of rounded shapes. Where the artful branches of statuary in Mirkwood resembled animal horns, these were more like the woven limbs of trees. A truly rustic feeling, like Grimbeorn or Radagast’s cabins to the north.

Even the stone pavers followed the same ideal with wide autumn leaves as big as his foot scattered as if by the wind instead of artisan design. Tauriel’s amazement didn’t stop as she looked up and around or tried to take in everything at once with a sharp intelligence. Taking her hand in his, she immediately clasped his fingers with the jubilant excitement that never made it to her mien.

“Kili, my young friend!”

The call was an old one from a different life to another Dwarf, but the individual was still a friend. Looking over his left shoulder, it was Gandalf the Grey carrying Radagast’s staff walking to him with an outstretched hand. There were Elves in his wake, but only two of them he knew. Arwen Undomiel and their guide, Haldir, from this morning trailed behind, though the Lady’s gaze was much more welcoming.

“Gandalf!” Kili took the hand but stopped himself from giving the spry wizard a hug. He wasn’t the reckless one anymore and these were not his people.

The grey pilgrim shook his hand with a firm grip, laughing all the while. It had been many years since Kili had seen the Wizard, too many things had settled between them. The wizard had come to the Mountain once or twice that he could remember but Kili had not known until he had left again. If anyone could tell of what the business was at Erebor, it would be he. Before he could ask the most pressing things, Gandalf moved to Tauriel to give her a bow and a wink.

“I see congratulations are in order, my dear.” The wizard took Tauriel’s hand with a smile hidden somewhere in the shaggy beard, flicking a gnarled finger to her braids. Bofur always said the ways of wizards were just as mysterious as a rockslide.

“Yes.” Tauriel grinned as she put an arm around Kili’s shoulders. It was as close to raw affection as she would go in this gathering and he couldn’t fault her for it.

Kili couldn’t tell if the wizard congratulated them for being together or for the child Tauriel carried. Unsure of the currents that flowed about the unknown Elves, he didn’t ask for clarification. If they knew not of the child, he wouldn’t enlighten them. Kili pulled her closer to him, determined to hold his wife near in case of some hostility. The Lady of Light had made her presence earlier, he knew not what to expect now.

“Well, I want to introduce you to your host, Lord Celeborn.” Gandalf stepped aside to the tall blonde Elf at his right.

Kili bowed his head, though Tauriel’s bow was deeper, lasting longer than his. The floating quality of the high Elf’s walk to them might have been considered feminine by Dwarf standard especially in the flowing calf length tunic of simmering silver white. It was little wonder that the males were confused with the females, they were all too pretty and dressed the same. Yet, that hadn’t been the case with his love, Kili had taken one look at her and completely lost his heart.

“Len suilon. You and your..wife are welcome in Caras Galadhon, Kili of Erebor. We hope that your stay shall be… pleasant.” Celeborn turned aside to usher forth Arwen for an introduction.

Kili had not smiled at the Lord and was most grateful for it. The pauses and the flicker of his gaze to Tauriel was borderline insulting. The lack of title or status suited him well, but insult to his love was not to be tolerated. Lord or not. There was some flying words between Arwen and her mother’s father, quick Sindarin that he couldn’t catch though Tauriel stiffened at his side. The Undomiel stepped away to greet him with an open smile like what she gave when he was in Imladris.

“I know them well, emeladar. Tauriel was my companion before she travelled with Elrohir and Elledan. It’s good to see you both.” The words were formal but her gaze was friendly as Kili and Tauriel bowed to her.

Arwen walked to Tauriel’s side, conversing in Sindarin with a rapidity that made his head hurt. This was close to a gossip session as Elves might be but it still was hard to get beyond it. He must have looked long suffering for Gandalf chuckled at something said by the women before he looked to the Dwarf. Kili didn’t know all of this situation but he felt he was being humored in a manner not of his liking.

“We have heard news that there is a war at Erebor. What do you know of it, Gandalf? Has something happened to Fili?” Kili reached out to the wizard who gave him a look of surprise.

“That is precisely why I am here! Well, and to accompany you to Erebor. I ..Oh! Elrohir!” Gandalf ushered a tall dark Elf at his elbow forward. He was dressed in travel grab not unlike what Dorlad favored. “This is Elrohir, son of Lord Elrond and brother to the Lady Arwen. He will be escorting her back to Imladris. His twin brother, Elledan is currently fighting in the north with the Rangers.”

Kili bowed his head as Tauriel broke from Arwen minutely for a greeting of her own. He had forgotten that she had travelled with him and his twin before settling in Rohan. Elrohir bore the look of his father, dark and grey eyed like his sister. In a room full of silver haired Elves, the pair stood out sharply as active shades against the light.

Dorlad walked around the couple, taking Elrohir’s shoulders in brotherly salutation. The Elf and Man were long friends as they launched into rapid fire discussion of the news from home. Of course, they knew each other Kili supposed, Elves and Dunedain had fought side by side for many a year. Dorlad had been their constant companion for so long, it was easy to forget there was a life waiting for him.

Gandalf smiled indulgently before the smile ran away from his face faster than the brown rabbits. “Erebor has erupted in Civil War. Dain has marched the Abkarul Hakhd to the vale between the Mountain and Dale to cut Fili off, but he couldn’t hold it due to the snow. The sounders are camped in the fells between Erebor and Red Spring. King Bard has requested help from the Elven King who sent a cadre of archers to Dale. “

Bain joined them, his face blank with shock. The grey wizard placed a hand on the young Man’s shoulder. “Your family is well. Bard and Sigrid as far as I have heard, the boys too. The cadre is a precaution, only.”

Kili broke in, taking a step to him. Tauriel’s fingers flexed slightly but didn’t leave him. “Dain? But why? What cause….?”

The memory of an arrow pinning Zigal’s hand to his belt flashed to his mind, wrangling a groan from deep inside. The feeling then had been to kill the self-righteous pebble that thought to draw steel before their Thane! Now, so many months later, he had caused a war for his brother. Fili had only ever cared for him, and he, Kili, might be the reason that their people killed each other.

“There is a list of grievances that according to Dain have gone ignored in the years since the Mountain has been reclaimed. He also claims that since the Queen is not of any clan, nor even Dwarf. King Fili named his eldest son, Prince Fian crown prince and Dain would have Thorin Stonehelm take that title.” Gandalf gave Bain a sheepish glance as he continued. “There are rumors, circulated by Dain I have found, that King Fili has taken Dwarrowdams from the Iron Hills for the purposes of a seraglio.”

Kili snorted to hold back his laughter at that preposterous notion. Fili would no more look to another female than pigs take wing to fly higher than the ravens. Sigrid would beat that notion out of him should he ever looked to another. If Bard and Bain didn’t get there first. Casting a quick look to the Prince of Dale, there was confusion and no little anger.

“Fili would never take a consort nor keep bedmates. He loves Sigrid too much for that even to appease the diehards of the older generation with that old custom. But tell me, Gandalf, is he well? Has something happened to him or amad?” Or any of our friends, Kili thought with apprehension, his hands grasping Tauriel all the tighter to hold her and his unborn child close.

“They are fine at last, I heard. The Mountain has not been breached. The ravens fly in the afternoons when the sun is warmest.” The wizard gripped his staff tighter as well. “But these actions of Dain surprise and worry me. It’s one thing for a clan to war with another but usually Dwarves never fight amongst themselves in this manner.”

Elrohir and Dorlad stepped closer to the conversation. The son of Elrond looked his friend before he spoke. “Could this be an evil work? Some devilry we do not know?”

“All things are possible.”

The words floated in the air, like the leaves underfoot but each one carried a singular weight. A Lady Elf stood at the steps leading down from a dais, her dress silvery white as her husband’s. Kili could feel her, in the room as did the others. The great roll of power was hard to ignore, spreading out to the corners the way a storm does before it strikes. Her gliding walk to the awaiting Celeborn was grace personified, her head high to the assembled. All around him, the Elves and Men and Wizard bowed to her, even Bain who knew her not. He showed the deference here where in Rivendell, there had been little to cover his distain.

It was the host of knowledge in her gaze that drew him at once, the life and death over so many ages. He had seen Elves, known Elves at a distance yet none wore eyes so cold that were related to the underbelly of a glacier. The cut glass features looked animated at a distance were a mask for the grinding power beneath. Kili could see the attraction that Elves like the Lady of Light before him had for the Men of Gondor. Their lives were fleeting, reduced in each generation to lesser extent where here in this room, thousands of years circulated. The blessings of the Valar to the First Born was fed the greed of mortals who had none of their own.

“Dain has another agenda besides the throne. A darkness of his heart that evil might exploit for their own gain. All haste must be used for these two Princes help save their homes.” The Lady’s voice is deep and soft, not a sound that he knew but the same feeling as earlier. It was wind and leaves twisting in the night, a low hum of elemental radiance.

“Your guidance is most appreciated.” Kili began as he took a bow before her. “We journey to Grimbeorn from here.”

The Lord Celeborn bore his wife close but the Dwarf had the feeling that it wasn’t his choice, that he wanted her far away from here. The cold blue of the male’s eyes was the same flat sensation of being stared at by a cat. The others rippled from her like she was the stone cast into an otherwise tranquil surface.

“Young Kili of Durin’s Folk, your wife is welcome to reside here with us until the threat has passed. We understand the need to safeguard and protect those who could be vulnerable.” The Lady Galadriel looked to the dark Elf with Dorlad. “Elrohir, son of my child, and Erethon of the Galadhrim will join your party and see you safely to Dale and beyond. Tauriel of the Greenwood will have no cause to worry for you in your absence. As a Silvan, she will be our honored guest.”

Tauriel froze at the mention of her name but also the conjunction of her former home. The address was properly borne with the Lady ignoring the situation of her banishment. While her husband looked just the littlest bit sour, he would never argue with his wife. Kili looked to Tauriel who stared back at him. Her fingers traced the lines of his brow, denting into the folds of his anxiety.

He didn’t want to leave her, not here with strangers, Elves he knew not. Gandalf was deferral enough to the high Elves here, but Tauriel by her own admission had never been to Lothlorien. What was he leaving her with?

“My Lady, I will do as you wish. I was supposed to escort Arwen home to Rivendell.” Elrohir spoke with a bowed head, not looking above the floor in his address of what Kili knew to be his grandmother.

“And you shall, Arwen will not leave until you return. She will show Tauriel the wonders of Lorien to distract her from her husband’s journey.” The smile she gave Elrohir wasn’t what Kili would call brittle but he couldn’t say it was warm either. “Time is our enemy. You must depart in the morning to stop the events that will destroy Erebor and likewise Dale.”

Elohir and the others fell in line with a snap. Battle Dwarves have the same precision when a commander gives an order. Kili shook under Tauriel’s hands with the prospect of parting again. The blur of voices on what would be needed, what could be left as well as the route circulated while the Lady of Light walked the perimeter of the room. But for him, nothing else matter than the Elf before him.

Tauriel bowed her head to Galadriel, speaking softly. “Your generosity is most appreciated, my Lady. I would consider myself fortunate to be a guest of your trees.”

The words held meaning, a communication of where a Dwarf offered a fellow the fire from his forge or a place at his table. The different groups relaxed each together, like it was all settled save the fine tuning of the particulars. Arwen bore them a secret smile as the Lady Galadriel gave the barest of acknowledgements with a somber air. She knows of our child, Kili thought watching her close, the Lady knows what Tauriel and our babe mean to me. Kili could not know her past with Dwarves, but this kindness was much more than expected. Arwen would allow no hurt to Tauriel, so likewise, the Galadrium would protect his love and child no matter what happened to him.

The Elven women in the room, all of them different and at once, the same. Each was a celestial body that moved according to its whim. Arwen stared at him with the paleness and quiet of the full moon on a starry night. She was the reflection of her surroundings, her face never betraying her own thoughts. Her mother’s mother, the Lady of Light was burning sun in the heavens. Her strength controlled lives incalculable, moving others in much the same way.

But Tauriel was his familiar self, a fire moon who drew his attention from all else. Hunters stalk by the same light, much as she had done in her forests. She was his basis of understanding, the constant that he measured the others and found them all lacking. The Ladies Galadriel and Arwen were beautiful but they didn’t move him as did his Elf.

Taking her hand in his, Kili kissed Tauriel’s fingers lightly. Her gaze found the others then swung back to him. “Shall we say our goodbyes far from here, my love?”

Husband and wife begged the indulgence of their hosts, asking to retire for the night. The long trip was cited for the reason, but he felt everyone knew the true purpose. Kili led her way, to their bower of the night, leaving Bain and the others to their feast.

“Will you be safe here? Is there concern?” Kili asked her on the stairs as they descended to earth.

“The Lady of Light spoke to me, my love. Her thoughts to mine. I will be safer here than further away. Fell creatures move along the Anduin.” His Elf spoke in hushed tones, though even the smallest child could know what they said.

Their passage was quieter from there, but still seen by the Galadhrim, marked as they were strangers to the Golden Wood. He would leave in the morning and they would be separated yet again but not for so along a time as they had been. It was a separation, and it hurt him deeply. The same pain was reflected in his love by his side as they wandered to their root shielded bed beside a rushy brook.

If this was their last night, Kili wanted the memories, he wanted her all of her. The smell of her hair in his nose for the long nights when he woke up to turn to her and find an empty space. The touch of her silky skin under his hands to remind him that there was a softness that awaited him, that longed for him. The years between their first meeting and their second had been unimaginable but now, he knew it for what it was, the division of his heart and soul from his body. Taking a deep breath, Kili swore to himself that he could endure, his family, wife and child needed him too.

Tauriel’s eyes flashed when he removed his tunic and boots, suddenly knowing the same wants with the same fears. There was haste, the sound of ripping clothes and feral snarls. The eagerness to taste, to feel and hold the fleeting knowledge close for another moment. He cared little if the whole of Lothlorien heard their passion, if it keep them from their rest or toil. The sweat soaked flesh was his when he pulled her atop him, and the furry pelt under those bladed hands was hers. The long whip of red hair spurred him higher into the delirium where pain and pleasure were one and the same.

His body broke as did the well of his tears, splashing them both as she gripped hard with bow sting fingers at her peak. Kili let go, releasing a guttural cry when he buried face into her breasts. The slick feel of her body around him was a salvation, the love it gave him was the nourishment to his soul. He felt his body caved in, spent and ruined that left only sleep. But the humming in his ear dragged him from the edge of the abyss.

The song of their child vibrated in his ear, a lullaby full of love. His mind translated the notes to a repeated phrase, something he had said long ago.

 _Return to me_ ….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things..  
> It was so very late.. work is killing but I finally finished this chapter..
> 
> Yasith is khudzul for wife..  
> Emeladar is a loose thought for grandfather in Sindarin. Nana is mummy and I couldn’t see using that for Celeborn.. ie, mummy’s dad.


	56. Chapter 56

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stars shining bright above you  
> Night breezes seem to whisper, "I love you"  
> Birds singin' in the sycamore tree  
> Dream a little dream of me
> 
> ~ Bing Crosby - Dream a Little Dream~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The parting of ways....
> 
> Bain POV, Tauriel POV

The morning came without fanfare, without the blinding heralds of a bright new day. Overcast and grim, the sun hid its face behind thick angry clouds that screamed thunderously loud at the world below. Bain stood at Dorlad’s side while chattered along in Sindarin with Elrohir. The more he heard the language the more understanding he possessed. Tauriel had spent time over the winter, teaching them in effort to understand the Gondorians who used it formal discussions rather than the common Westron. The society in Minas Tirith was a crude copy of what he saw in the Golden wood and in Rivendell, a dirty reflection of the Fair Folk. Their purpose was so at odds with what Men thought Elvish life might be.

Tauriel and Kili emerged from their bower, her hand on his arm in a death grip. He was so very pleased that Dorlad had talked Elrohir in finding different quarters for them last night, leaving the couple more privacy. The talk this morning around the Elves was of the couple who had been blushingly vigorous the rest of the night. The wide open space beneath the tall trees gave no breaks to the tempestuousness of the pair. The confusion on many Galadhrim faces when they looked at the uneven marriage was comical. Dwarves had an earthly sense of life, rancorous and loud but who knew Elves might be just as lusty?

They touched often, hands, lips, a brush to the forehead, rough hands on her belly. Tauriel smiled a secret smirk, oblivious censure of the others. They could not bear to be separated now, even in sleep. Tauriel on the road would curl her body in Kili’s, her nose buried in his neck. Despite the clothes and promises of chastity before the others, it was erotic to see so early in the morning. It would be so much harder in the days to come, for Bain feared his friend would be either morose or viciously hard.

Sex was not a mystery to him, not after the many months of being yanked to the bawdy houses and brothels by an enthusiastic Dunedain. It had been with Meleki and her brother, Jahan, that he had true interest and closer thoughts to his own. They were members of the D’thang, owned by the House Artamirian until death as their servants. The pair would never leave the estate, not for themselves but also for love of their mistress, Saelwen. The Gondorian lady loved the siblings like her own children, refusing to part with them for any gratuity. The conversations had been varyingly wide for the pair were well informed for their seclusion. Bain had been most embarrassed when the pair had found out of Dorlad’s consistent efforts to further his physical education with common harlots.

Tilda, his sweet hoyden sister, had taken the situation with embarrassing fortitude. She was almost a woman, educated in healing but also languages and statecraft. The line of Girion was strong in her, transforming the girl into a feminine Bard with the same taste for doing good works. Almost as tall as he, the youngest princess might not be the true beauty of their older sister when she came of age. Those years before the Dragon burned their home were not so far in his past that he had forgotten a younger Sigrid. Yet, seeing Tilda in Gondor out of the Sigrid’s shadow, Bain felt many would find her appealing. Her sharp features were striking now, only to be arresting later. She was a hawk, an eagle among pigeons and doves in the White City, she would never lack for admirers.

The Wizard strode over the bulwark, with a flock of trailing Elves. He was an indomitable figure both in thought and presence, Bain had found last evening. He remembered Gandalf the Grey from the Great Battle or as many Southern gentry called the Battle of the Five Armies. He had taken the fight to the Dwarves, demanding what had been owed for the people of Laketown when the Dwarf King had refused them. The Wizard turned his considerable energy to the Orcs who marched against them, fighting along side the Men and Dwarves all for their lives in as much as his own. Whatever came of this conflict with Dain Ironfoot, Gandalf could always clobber him with his staff. The Lord of the Iron Hills had a hard head, might take at least two hits to knock some sense into that thick skull.

Isen butted his shoulder, gaining his attention for the first time this morning. He must have enjoyed his rest of the night in the Elven stable, turning almost ass stubborn when Bain came to collect him. The Elves bred beautiful horses, refusing to allow Bain admittance for his’ horses’ care. He had no thought that the red chestnut would be harmed or ill-treated, only that Isen would be too spoiled to want to leave. The prince of Dale was right, of course. The stallion blew out his barrel when Bain checked the girth, flicking his tail at him in dismay. Isen even went so far as to refuse the sugar lump he held out a gift, snorting and flipping his lip. He did give a nickered welcome to Tauriel and Kili as they approached but stared down the Elf from Rivendell in suspension.

“He treats her as if he would spare her any fatigue, as if he has dedicated his life to her happiness.” Elrohir whispered as he watched Kili and Tauriel. “I had hoped that he would find her. Arwen has worried long days for them.”

“You were spared their reunion, Mellon.” Dorlad huffed at his friend while he check the saddle bags. “It was not smooth in the least. These many months have sanded down the sharp edges.”

No it had not been smooth, now with a child coming, their parting was just that more jagged. Kili had mentioned that he come to Ered Luin if Bain so wished, take a room for a while. So much time together on the road might have soured their friendship, particularly that one was a stubborn Dwarf but he knew this wasn’t the case. They were friends, kin of a different clan. They had lived fairly together, each watching the other so that they could be at this moment where they begin the last of their long journey.

Bain had a queer sensation when he watched his friends, not a premonition. He would see Tauriel again, not for a while or maybe years but true friendship didn’t stop at distance nor if life gave them a different road. Tauriel, former Captain to Thranduil’s Forest Guard, lover and wife to Kili, Prince of Erebor had stood between him and death too many times. She might never sit at his table, nor draw warmth from his hearth but there would always be a place for her there and in his heart.

Bain walked to the she Elf, cossetted in her husband’s arms. She was trying and failing magnificently to be strong for him, to send him forth on a path unmarked by tears. Bain bowed his head to her, drawing the attention of many assembled. They might have said their farewells last night without the stares and eavesdroppers of nosy Elves. Yet, he knew that her time with Kili was fleeting and _their_ goodbyes would take the fore.

“I would take my leave, my lady.” Bain spoke quietly, though the effort was wasted as all sensitive ears were attuned to them. “You saved me and my family from a Dragon, loved my friend here and took him for your husband. I will call you friend and offer you every courtesy should ever you ask it of me or my House. We will serve.” He gave her a smile to lighten her mood, clasping an offered hand. The slim long fingers belied their strength as her grip held true. “Until we meet again, may your heart be light and your purse be heavy.”

A farewell of Laketown, a blessing to the couple who wanted nothing more in life than the other. Tauriel smiled deeply, then bowed her head. “Prince Bain, son of Bard the Dragonslayer, King of Dale. May Elbereth hold you in the palm of her hand and never close her fist. I shall miss you and think of your smile upon each star in the heavens.”

One day he would come, for the friendship mattered to him. Kili and Tauriel mattered to him. Bain wanted to see their lives in happier times, full of joy and children. Smiling, he looked to the Dunedain as he spoke respectfully to one of the Galadhrim who edged the party that assembled to farewell them. He knew that he would take the high pass through the Misty Mountains, take up their companion and travel to the Blue Mountains. But that might be a space of time yet before he took such travelling to heart and set Isen’s feet upon the road.

The two stood for a moment until Bain gave her a bow and returned to Isen. The disagreeable stallion stamped his feet, then swung his head away when Bain took his seat. He had no wish to leave, sawing at the bit in refusal. It took Dorlad mounting his calmer gelding and pulling on the rein a little to get him started at last. Elrohir and the Galadhrim hunter joined him to give Kili a moment more, following the gray Wizard on his brown mare. The Dwarf wouldn’t cry not before unknown Elves, so Bain did for him. The salt tears were plentiful just like the bursting ache in his friend’s heart.

*******************

Tauriel watched Kili go, riding away and fighting his pony the length of her sight. Warg screamed, bucking his legs out to try and throw his rider and go back to Flandif in the Elven stable. She might have laughed at the scene of the pony fighting her husband’s grip but it just pushed wider the growing pit of despair. Watching him leave was harder than she Elf had imagined, torn asunder with conflicting impulses. Her body and her soul desperately want to escape, to chase after him but her mind was the only thing keeping her rooted there.

The gray pilgrim, Mithrandir, led the company, the Hermit’s staff in prominence. She remembered him long ago, Tauriel thought wizards must not age for he was still as somber and just as strident now as then. She had made his brief acquaintance in Rivendell during her recovery. He took a few moments of his time to say that Kili was recovering due to his wounds were grievous at his uncle’s hands. Tauriel had never forgotten his kindness then, hoping that he would keep her love from harm in her stead.

Arwen stood at her side, staring at the distance with her. The high Elf did not walk away or attempt to draw her into conversation. She was there, a solid wall for Tauriel to lean once the tears breached their dam to spill down her cheeks. There was no time frame, no estimation of his return. It might be a day, it could be a month. Kili would not leave Erebor until the dangers to his family had passed, nor could she impress him to do so. They were his family too, Tauriel’s love for him wouldn’t allow her to make him choose her over them.

The last visage of him had left the horizon, the tears came faster then. She carried little for the display she represented to the others as an Elleth who had no control. Many had called her a rash, impulsive Elfling, not mature enough to be a captain. The Elders had questioned Thranduil, saying she had not learned to calm her mind and handle the responsibility of others. But Tauriel knew it wasn’t that she wasn’t mature, she was an Elleth of Silvan blood, no Sindar, Noldorin mixed. No high blood of Man flowed in her. The Elders of the Greenwood were of the old ways, and older thoughts when it came to those who should command.

Listless, Tauriel turned away at last, bowing deep to the Lady of Rivendell. A smile played upon the Evening’s star’s lips, walking at her pace back to the Trees of the Lady of Light. The Lady Arwen was most kind, and thoughtful when last they met in Rivendell so many years ago. She was gentle, soft spoken to a ravaged Elleth whose broken heart was killing her slowly. So many lives she had seen amongst Men and others but Arwen set aside each day to come and sit at her side, reading or simply being there. Kili had spoken highly of her as well, less so of Glorfindel though she had no reason to speak for the former Lord of Gondolion. Nor would he speak for her if memory served.

The Elves drew back from their path, for respect for the Lady Arwen or disgust for her, Tauriel could not say. Lindon was not so far in their thinking, many here had been alive during the Wars of Wrath. While the Lady had given her welcome, Lord Celeborn’s reception was colder. It was as she had feared on the road, their long memories snapped at her love. Opinions on why an Elf would pledge herself to one of the enemy was quite beyond them, Tauriel could tell. A hunter in love with her prey?  What love can be enduring with no respect in the face of that inequality? They would not understand, nor could they in light of their experiences.

These Elves had been no different the Gondorians with their slaves and need to impress the First Born. There was no Elendil to stand upon the White Mountains, nor Isildur and Anarion to hold back the tide of filth that tried each day to smother the world of Men. A son of Isildur stood in their midst for five months and they knew him not for they had cast out that line as if it were garbage.

These Elves cared little for her as the Gondorins had for Dorlad, they allowed their eyes to slide by her figure. Rumil the hunter, had seen her braids then carefully looked away to shame her for it. The feeling beneath the trees was indifference, uncaring of her. The smiles and nods here upon encountered faces were for Lady Arwen who the Galadhrim obviously greatly respected, revering the Lady of Light for her guidance and protection. Tauriel tried and tried again to see beyond this, their coldness. The Undomiel went so far as to put her hand upon hers, guiding her to the steps to ascend to an aerie overhead.

The stairs underfoot bored into the wood, held fast by a symbiotic nature. The Lady Galadriel had fed her power into these trees, giving them life before their rooted existence. Tauriel could feel that power, arching through the bark to dance along her hand. A healthy wooded soul, she had missed most this connection to the trees. The Eldar who loved to talk to all things, gave life to the trees at Eru’s behest. A gift of the Eldar created the Ents, the great Shepherds who were said to wander in Fangorn as it’s last protectors and greatest champions.

The Elysian peace could not be measured, but the quiet would only make her think of what she missed. Tauriel had never been one to stand aside and wish, she had actively participated. As they reached their destination, the Lord Celeborn walked the room in gliding motion. Like the daughter of his daughter, his grace was fluid like the pouring of water from a ewer. Elrohir nor his brother, Elledan emitted that poetry, much more feral and many times more brash than their kin. The life amongst the Rangers held mysteries beyond a water’s grace, cramped and mean to carry only what was needed. They looked to the stars as a means of finding a way home, not for the joy of what the light brought to the soul. It was a rugged life, a blood stained life of no reward yet it suited the twins just the same.

The High Elf sniffed at her in a manner Tauriel might have taken for distain. Arwen straightened her spine to look at her mother’s father with the slightest suggestion of reproof.   It might have been amusing were she not in the middle of the situation.

“They have left for Erebor, Emeladar.” The Elleth told her mother’s father who probably knew this already. “May Elbereth light their path and blind their enemies.”

The Lord Celeborn bowed to the words for he revered the Lady of Stars like any of their clan. His pale clothes of piercing white fell to pleats at his sides. His contemplation was brief until his eyes were drawn again to the Tauriel. The coldness was there, yet it chilled her not at all. She knew his anger, and old hates. But they were not hers.

His voice was deep, a sweeping rumble of power. “Mithrandir would not lead them astray. This will be resolved with hopefully little bloodshed.”

Raised in a Sindar court, Tauriel had the distinct impression from the clipped words, Lord Celeborn would care none at all if a few Dwarves lost their life there. He would not mourn for them nor care for the families broken by death. The remote expression told her still more and anger her together.

“Death is painful, touching mortal and immortal with no prejudice. Those that are left have to pick up the pieces and start again with loss that can never be filled.” Tauriel released her pentup fear in those two sentences. Taking a breath, she spoke softly. “I pray that the Wizard cools those hot heads for a quiet resolution to the conflict.”

“To whom do you pray, wife of Kili? Eru, Elbereth, or _Mahal_?” There was a sneer on his face that made Tauriel want to reach for dagger. “What love can be had between two such races?”

“I pray to any who would listen to a child of Tawarwaith. But for my love, Kili’s name is branded on my soul. All that I am is his.” Why could he not see? Tauriel wanted to rage. Her composure slipped, allowing the anger to show. “Dwarf he might be, but he knows how to love with all of himself.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to do some heavy editing with this chapter and the next to restructure it. The word count was massive due to Kili's arrival at Dale, Tauriel's fight with Thranduil but I still wanted to show their parting. The Elves care little for Dwarves but I thought it interesting that the Lady Galadriel helped Gimli get into Valinor or so the research is telling me.  
> The blessings are irish if any are familiar with them, I took license like I always do and thought them beautiful. 
> 
> Bain.. well, I put the stuff about Bain because of events that bring Tilda home in the epilogue. Bain's chapter and deeper thoughts about sex come up in his chapter in Sad Tales..


	57. Chapter 57

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kili's POV... general travel
> 
> This chapter is for darling Gingerpie81 . :o) 
> 
> Im dying to write some Stansa but I have no idea when...lol

 

The days were as hateful as he feared. Four days of pushing the animals to their limits then asking for a few breaths longer. Isen and Warg with Dorlad’s gelding and Daisy knew the pace, threw their hearts and souls in it, however Gandalf’s steed lagged a little here and there. The poor animals’ heads hung low at the closing of each day, weary from the steady stride. The Elven mounts bore their riders with sleek efficiency, not eager, only resigned to the task ahead. The pace went unchanged, the company taking minimum breaks to further their mileage.

Winter still dug glacial claws into the barren land, with bone shattering cold to greet them each sunrise. Spring had not awakened the region here as it had to the south, with a warm smiling sun and balmy sighing winds. The nights were the worst for Kili. There was no lithe figure to hold him close, nor coiled about him with long swaths of vermillion tresses to blanket them against the world. It was a bitter bed he folded himself each night with loneliness for bunting. A half formed thought that she might be steps away, scouting at the horses’ edge was not a comfort to him. Imaginings might be dangerous for they didn’t soothe the ache for Tauriel, the feel of her hand upon him. However, a lie was almost easier than thinking of her so many miles away. The Lady had promised his wife refuge and the Lady Arwen would see it enforced.

They took the Anduin straight up the open vales with Mirkwood to their right hand with the river as a border between them. The Elf, Elrohir of Rivendell, suggested the safe path through the forest at the Elven road to the north but Gandalf overruled him gently. The wizard had a valid point that with Thranduil honoring the accord with Dale to send troops to the small kingdom in case of danger, the cavern palace would be on high alert. _Any_ travelers not of their knowledge would be considered suspicious. No matter if there were Elves in their party, they would be detained and it would cost them time they needed to get to Erebor.

Having been an unfortunate guest of Mirkwood jails, Kili was in no hurry to repeat the experience. In the end, they agreed to take the old Forest Road for the covenant gave them freedom to travel it unmolested. The urgency didn’t throw caution out the window, the route was a smart one. The two companions had travelled the same way when he left months ago, it felt right to return in his own footsteps.

The trail looked no better than it had months ago. Vines and old webs still clung to the trees to choke off the life slowly. Broken statuary lay where it had fallen in isolated meadows like old bones upon an ancient battlefield. Bain huffed in places where memory of their previous conversation surfaced to his mind, making Kili smile then wince. Elros’ news had been wrong, then. He had not found a tomb, but life and love returned. The Dwarf swiped a hand at low branch, knowing that Tauriel would give much to be with them now. To see these woods, no matter how degraded. He could see the budding here and there where spring attempted to hoist the Greenwood from its wintery nap.

Gandalf had much to say about the state of the forest and its contents. His opinion never mentioned Thranduil nor did the words he uttered scold the Elven King for his rule. Too many ears might be close or the trees themselves would gossip to their guardians, angering the Silvans within. But the underlying thought was that the Sindarin son of Oropher of Doriath was too complacent in his approach. The maleficent forces had been defeated, not destroyed. Gandalf imparted that strange things moved now, in other places in their world. They would each need to be on their guard to live out this situation, both here and in Dale then beyond.

They rose early to a frosted land, the mud brown grass long dead from snow and cold. The company of Elves, Men, a Wizard and Dwarf was a hodgepodge of races with their own unique morning rituals. Kili, never a happy morning Dwarrow, stumbled his way from the blankets that had ensnared him. The grumbling from the gray Wizard was almost a comfort compared to the confused blankness of the Elves. Erethon, an able archer of the Galadhrim, had taken the guard post once they had made camp on the other side of the river from the Elven Gate. Dorlad had spelled him in the night, preparing a meager feast of skinned hare and vegetables for the morning fare. The blurry feeling lasted only as soon as the warm food in the belly stirred them alert to face this last leg of the trip.

The other animals were not as grumpy as Warg, taking their care with quiet ambivalence where Kili had to fight the pony for his hooves. He narrowly missed a bite to his leg if Elrohir had not laughingly grabbed the halter. Once saddled the piebald settled in resigned annoyance that wearied the Dwarf for the long day of battle he would be subjected. Daisy was the easiest of the bunch with only a light packing upon her back and a sweet cough of greeting. The bulk of his possessions he had left behind in Lothlorien, thinking he would bring another pony in addition to Daisy for the remainder of his things once he started back for Tauriel.

Bodily functions attended, the company mounted for the final push to the Long Lake. The course view of the Wilderlands fanned away to the east with the River Running heralding a path to Dorwinion. The Redwater married the great River at some point to make a home together in the Sea of Rhun. For all his wonderings, Kili had never been to the sea. His thoughts during his maddening years had never taken him that far from the Mountain, tethered to his family. Dain was the only one closest should he have problems, and Kili admitted he was glad for never trusting the Ironfoot.

Little else was known of why this series of problems had come about, Gandalf nor Elrond’s son, Elrohir shed any further light. The wine soaked memories of the last years yielded nothing beyond the arrow pinning Zigal’s hand and the overall feeling of Dain’s constant disquiet over his people’s migration to the hearths of their fathers. If such was the reason for this ill-gotten foray, the Ironfoot would forever divide Durin’s Folk with his avarice nature.

When they lost sight of the Mountains of Mirkwood, he felt both hot and restless at the idea of being home. The crunch of battle would be upon them again and though his love was safe, Kili still worried at the care she was given. He knew with piercing certainty she would brook no insult, and the Elves would not dare harm their babe. Theirs was a relationship of love and commonality that the Galadhrim could not see to understand. Tauriel was as restless as he, wilder of thought than any Dwarf. Only the bonds of her Sindarin conditioning kept her contained. However, the months of their Gondorian sabbatical had weakened those from steel to malleable cable.

Erethon for all his melancholy silence had a keen eye. He scanned the forest line as they rode, a knocked arrow resting at his thigh. Kili got the feeling the Elf would rather be in the trees than riding, his fingers twitched every so often at the reins when a loud click or animal call sounded to from that direction. His browned garb would hide him well, blending against trunk and branch. The blond hair would be a problem unless he thought to cover it with a cowl of some sort.

“Spiders?” Kili asked as he rode along side, struggling to keep Warg from taking a bite of the Elf’s horse.

The Elf looked down from the bay he rode, with a gaze of borderline distain. There had been no interaction between them, the Galadhrim had closed his comments to Elrohir and Gandalf. There had been sparse acknowledgement with Dorlad but it was more than the Lorien Elf gifted him. The enmity he presented was known but Kili had not the patience today to deal with it after a long morning of fighting his pony.

The worried wrinkled marred the otherwise smooth brow, curling the distain to vexation. “Yes. We have had intelligence they are spawning again in the lower sections of the Greenwood.”

Kili took the words, digesting them for the fuller tenor of their meaning. If the spiders were spawning to the south but had made it this far north, everything in between was in danger. The Elves of Mirkwood would be spread thin if a cadre had been sent to Dale. The Gray Pilgrim had been wise indeed for the longer journey. There had been no indications when last they trekked the Old Forest Road of the eight legged evil but the Elves then were much too cautious and never of a mind to divulge a problem that they considered internal.

Bain dropped back to sandwich Kili next to the stoic Elf. Isen joined Warg nettling the Elven horse but unlike the Dwarf in the middle, Bain had no reason to check him. Snorting challenges continued with Isen squealing low in contempt for what he thought of as a potential rival. It was obvious the enforced conditions of last months had settled the two into a pair of troublemakers. Isen had been feeling brave after exposure to Rohirric stallions of same lineage. Like his rider, the Elven bay was too well trained to take the bait of a young male thinking to press a dominance trial upon him. Kili signed, letting out as much line to Daisy as he dared so that she would at least be spared the male posturing.

The sedate pace continued with the light stamp of hoof upon dead weeds and frost killed grasses. The forest tried to extend itself across the river with middling effect with wild gleanings dotting the river’s edge. In years time, they would grow and mayhap germinate to give life to the barren plains of nothing that stretched out to the east. A wealth of history lay in this soil but for the most part, reclined in stagnant terraces. Woodland would bring creatures that would begin larger animals still, then hunters. Anything but the fell beasts or worse Easterlings that currently tread in the reaches which birth the sun.

The company persevered at a constant speed, more for the animals who needed the breather. The sun was overhead when Kili noticed it sparkling upon the water before him. The trunks had thinned down to stout firs whose gnarled roots found purchase in shallow crevices of the rocky soil. The Long Lake lived to its name, a dug trench of water that was longer than its breadth. A god of earth or a sharpened claw of some wild monster might scarred the land, leaving the ruts of its passage to backfill with water and life of lesser beings.

Gandalf snorted much like Isen had in dawn’s hours when the view changed to reveal the winter’s progress that was made on the rebuilding of Esgaroth. Barges and boats bobbed in a floatilla of makeshift homes, tied together or to blackened remains of stilted homes. Six years had shown little improvement and crime was becoming an issue in the hovels. The causeway was intact and the houses there were new but many of the citizens had appropriated what they could, building houseboats instead of permanent structures that they had before. Cut stone from the mountain, Kili knew, had been sent, though the evidence of where it had been laid was anyone’s guess. There was no Master of the town nor an Alfrid to steal, so the misery of the souls living there was their own.

Their path hugged the water’s edge, first the river, then the lake, then the river again. There had been ice flows, small ones, floating in the center of the lake near the derelicts of sunken skiffs where the water was coldest. The fishing might be the best there for none took the time to remove the burned out hulls from the lake, giving the fish an alcove to hide from larger predators. Bain sighed as he took in the water, though Kili couldn’t know it if was happiness or disappointment. He had been a child upon those waters, like his father the King before him, learning the motion of waves before the solid ground.

“It has not changed in the long months, my friend.” Kili said as he watched.

“No, but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t a concern. The people are so indifferent about anything now. When we left, Da was to have a meeting with their appointee to try and get the town back on its feet.” Bain slowed Isen to get a further glimpse of the neglected city, Erethon joined him. “I can’t understand why they don’t care about their livelihood.”

Kili blew out a breath, conscious of Elf ears more than Bain. “He has so many responsibilities. The farming end of the Kingdom, trade with Erebor, appeasing Thranduil.” The Dwarf was completely incapable of not rolling his eyes at the Elven King’s name. “You know the lake and it’s people. Why not take that project from him? Show your father that you care and want to help him.” Bain’s expression changed to one of interest as Kili continued. “I wouldn’t do it alone, harangue a counsellor to go with you. In the end if it is done well, Bard might appoint you the Lord. He still has many years ahead of him as King.”

The idea of the scavengers of Laketown getting over on Bain fired Kili’s anger. He watched as the young Prince called Dorlad over to point out areas of interest that made the ruined town appear more welcoming. Bain shared the memories of where he had learned to fish and what place had good anchorage. Erethon studied him with the same bland expression he had worn since they left LothLorien. There was rapid intelligent thought processing behind the pale eyes of the reserved Elf.

“Out with it.”

Kili couldn’t take anymore of it. The muted ride was getting to him after so long days of endless chatter from his friends. It was an odd thing, to ride next to one who might as well been tongueless for all the conversation he used. Before his quest, there would be days Kili didn’t remember broaching a subject with anyone nor saying anything that wasn’t necessary. To meet one of that same vein now whose very solitude barely stirred the air in his passing, unnerved him completely.

“Do you think what you said to the young Prince was wise?” The words were the being of an exchange but hardly more than an insult.

Kili bristled. “In what way to your mind could it not have been?”

The archer shrugged, checking the movement before it translated to his mount in a command of some sort. “Many a son of Man has run afoul without a wiser hand to lead.”

The Dwarf smiled a snarky bend of the lips at the Ellon’s idea. He could see that the word ‘wiser’ was a transposition of the word ‘Elven’ where one was as interchangeable as the other. The Elf honestly thought that the words walked hand in hand in any colloquy. The arrogance of his unfiltered cognition could never be bore by any race and it made Kili so very happy that some clans of Elves shut themselves away to pollinate their egotism in a closed environment.

Smiling still, he let Warg thump into the Elven mount to get his rider’s attention. “I wonder if you marked the geography.” Kili turned in the saddle to point back to the Greenwood. “There lies Thranduil, Elven King. Lake town lies between Dale and his domain. Think you not that the Sindarin would have no opinion of how the town is governed?” He watched as the Elf pulled his mount further away. “He will have a representative there for his own interests as well as building a better relationship with the future King of Dale. Bard loves his son and would never let him try at it alone.”

“And what of Erebor? Would they not have representatives of their own?” A sly look squinted Erethon’s face to couple with the quirk of his own. “It seems you and your …. _wife_ might fit that description of functionary were she not banished from Mirkwood.”

He felt his hand tighten on Orcrist, strapped to the saddle by the horn for an easy pull. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by the Ellon which make him release the hilt. It was a study in concentration to release each finger from the metal though it was accomplished in the end. The Elf was here at the Lady’s request, owed the curtesy of a guest no matter his opinions. A Dwarf would show respect even in face rudeness, by sparing his life.

Kili breathed deep and released it slow. “A year ago, I would have pulled that sword and cut your saddle girth. Two of my fletchings would have pinned you to the ground for Warg to trample those soft Elven bones.” He didn’t look to the Elf to see how the statement affected him. He didn’t much care how it might degrade their relations. “My _wife_ as you sneeringly call her is the other half of me. I lived without her and found it to be a life not worth living.” This Elf could never understand those black years when Kili was whole without, wreaked ruin within. What was left bore twisted fruit in spawned loathing to seed another year of a grim existance. “But to further your statement, no, our life will lead a different road far from here. It would pain her deeply to be so close and never step foot in those woods where she grew from an Elfling.”

Before the Elf might swing his rejoiner to Kili’s derision, Gandalf rode back with a nod. “Erethon would you be so kind to ride with Dorlad and Prince Bain ahead? We are close to Dale and I want him seen but with an escort in case of an attack.”

The Ellon archer acknowledged the request with a bow to lay heel to his mount to ride ahead. Gandalf called to Bain and Dorlad to accompany the disappearing Elf, pointing to the copse of trees to their left. Elrohir didn’t change his pace, trotting ahead of the Wizard and Dwarf not a hundred yards away. No doubt, Kili thought with a twist, the son of Elrond had heard the exchange, alerting Gandalf of the dissention behind them. He heard the Wizard sigh beside him as he drew out his pipe. The dressing down wouldn’t be so private and Kili wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it.

He reeled in Daisy a bit as he spoke to Tharkun at his side. “Chide me not. I have every right to defend mine own and every right to give back to those who say we don't belong together. There is nowhere else I want to be. I've risked my life for Tauriel. I've ridden half the length of Arda for her, and I'd do it again and again and again just to be with she who completes me. Whether it’s the Smith’s plan that we starve and freeze or hear her complaints about hard bread every day. There is no life for me without her in it.”

They didn't understand that she held his heart, held it so utterly that there was nothing he wouldn't do, no line he wouldn't cross to keep her safe and happy. The hmmm from the taller rider at his side was not an assurance, carrying every note of pacification in its melody. Kili gritted his teeth to keep from launching into another long ventilation at his companion’s mutterings about stubborn Dwarves.

Gandalf rode for a length, drawing deeply on his pipe stem to release a stream of smoke into the air. “Why do you suppose the Lady of Lorien tasked him and Elrohir to join us?”

Kili thought for a moment. “More steel if it were needed.”

“That is true.” Gandalf agreed. “But there is a darkness coming and will come hard for those who have no allies. What are your plans for yourself and Tauriel after you leave? Bilbo told me of her vow to never return here?”

Kili looked to the Wizard, allowing the piebald to slow his pace somewhat. The words were true enough in a calmer world but as he looked over the plains towards the end of the end of the Long Lake, it wasn’t a sane world they lived. The burned husk of the once great town on a lake to his lower left was evidence of that fact. A whisper of evil, a hot wind from the North had heralded Smaug to kill so many and take over this region. What could come for them in Ered Luin? Not Dragons surely, but Orcs, Trolls and Goblins of that ilk ran the night in search of tender pain and bleeding cries.

“We will make for Ered Luin with the King’s permission.” He told the old Wizard at last.

Gandalf hummed again at him smoking his pipe. “A fair place and quieter than it will be here. You will have several host of Elves between you and Fili. Likely as not, they will be able to aid you faster than he.” The Wizard looked to him sharply. “You were never one to hold to the old hates, do not fed it now that you have a lovely bride. Change comes slow in life and you have set many aback with this marriage. There are good and bad in every race, let not the bad overshadow the good. He might learn from you as you could from him.”

The lecture ended abruptly when four Elven warriors stepped from a boulder and drew back their arrows. Erethon had his knocked and drawn to them, pressing heel to his mounts side to maneuver him into a better positon. The Elves were Mirkwood, their golden helms of leaf design shimmered in the sun as did the gilding of their gauntlets. The quartet were not shrouded for forest concealment, not with the shiny armor and bits of sparkle. They wanted to be seen, a declaration of their allegiance so that all knew that to harm them was a strike at Greenwood the Great.

Elrohir rode forward, motioning for Bain to follow. Gandalf joined them but kept himself behind Dorlad though it was quite hopeless. He had been seen though the guards were much more interested in the fact that Bain had unexpectantly arrived. They lowered their bows, spreading themselves to take the measure of each of the company. Elrohir returned their welcoming gesture with flourish from aback his horse as did Erethon. Rapid Sindarin bartered between the Elves when Kili’s name was mentioned. They watched him with a keen interest behind their auric helms.

They set off at a pace at once, Dorlad calling back that some boars had been spotted to the east of their position. The Elven language flowed between the leader of the Mirkwood group and Elrohir with Gandalf asking a question or two. Some of it was intelligible to him, Bain would make a fine prize for the Iron Dwarves should they get him. Sounders camped in the vales over the ridge from Erebor, huddled around great bonfires that the Ironfoot kept going through the night for warmth but during the day, the pigs harangued travelers and Dwarves alike. Harassment had stopped the trade with the informal blockade of anything going to the Mountain or out of it. Only the Kingdom of Dale kept daily supplies of food and necessities in transport with armed escort that prevented King Fili from surrendering.

Kili road in silence, allowing their misconception. In reality, he knew that Dwalin would have the stores brimming with food and every forge in the Mountain billowed day and night for new armor. If Dale was providing food it was because Fili wanted the Illusion, not out of necessity. Erebor would have been sealed to withstand a siege but never at the price of killing his people slowly with starvation.

They rounded the last curve of the road with the City of Dale laid in a bunched circle. Wet red roofs with bricked chimneys belched plumes of smoke from hearth fires to create low hanging clouds in the nippy air. From their position, he could see no activity on the streets nor movement along the river. The deserted places and darkened homes was ominous to his mind, the prelude to a worse fate than Dain taking over the Mountain with his incessant gluttony. A dog barked but was quickly hushed. Abandoned yet occupied the stinking rot of fear embraced Dale crushingly.

They rode in file to the gates, closed and barred against traffic. No pendants flew in the breeze, no trumpets pealed in welcome. The walls bore new repair as well as the gates, aligning with the probability of an attack. It was too close a resemblance to the desertion he had seen years ago when Kili and the others traveled to the Mountain after Lake town was burned to the waterline. The quiet stillness of a forgotten place angered him further. These people had no trunk with Dain yet they were suffering the same as Durin’s Folk, living in fear of wrath that had no cause to be directed at them.

The slow progress might only be blamed that the Mirkwood Elves were afoot and weighed down with heavier armor than what they might wear in the forest. Tough leather, braided and textured for rough living, was not the same as hard metal and could never move the same. Kili could see it in their stride, light falcons jessed to the ground when they longed to fly free. Their weapons were heavier too, bows that were used in battle conditions with gold leaf design up the risers and metal hand grips. Thranduil had equipped his people well for this, taking every precaution. At least, someone was, Kili thought as they rode closer.

A word and a gesture was given to the guard at the wall. When the Man looked over the company, he bellowed a welcome to the Prince of his city. Bain returned the call with a hand raised and the other to hold back a prancing Isen. The hail found others as one after another the guards whooped and shouted to Bain, a salute of favor. Kili laughed at their antics unable to withdraw from it. The enthusiasm didn’t stop when the gates flung open to soldiers spilling out to crowd the return of their Prince.

Bain jumped down from Isen to clasp hands with a friend of long standing. The taller Man wore a dented chest plate of fair iron grade but older than his father’s years if Kili had the right of it. The sword at his waist was of the same age, likely pulled from the same armory as the plate. Looking around, each of the guardsmen wore old or dated shielding with new strapped in for an odd mismatched ensemble. The Mirkwood Elves melted away, sliding back to allow the town to greet the son of their King.

The guards milled though the company but stopped short when they noticed Kili. One even when so far as to put his hand upon sword hilt in an obvious display of anger. A master at arms grabbed this ill-tempered lout strongly, bowing a head to the mounted Dwarf even while he hissed a reprimand to guardsman. The blanched look upon the Men’s faces swore that he was recognized, remembered. Deeds of drunken nights and bloodstained days would forever be latched upon his name like vultures looking for carrion. There were no memories attached to those deeds but for him it mattered little. It was before, long before he left this place and all the hurts that he had visited to others and that had been braced upon himself. He wouldn’t ask their forgiveness for the slights and wrongs, unfortunately there wasn’t enough time to beg them all.

A tall dark Man wadded through the sea of humanity, a careworn face split wide in happiness. The others parted as many townspeople stepped from their homes to see what the commotion was at their gates. The looks of partial curiosity and fearful expectation slid away to bright unadulterated joy at the sight of Bain.   They cheered loudly, rancorously, when father and son seized in a squashing clutch of blissful desperation. The months of separation, the pain, joy, and heartbreak faded away at a reunion between father and son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to say thank you so much to everyone who continues to read.. I keep thinking that I am 10 chapters away from the end but then it never pans out...lol


	58. Chapter 58

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OMG Happy Solstice Everyone!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first posting for this story was 1 yr and 2 days ago..thank you so much to all who have read and still enjoy it!
> 
> Fun chapter.. Tauriel and Thranduil and the Hot Hot Hot Haldir

Tauriel rose that morning to a false spring, humming a soaring aria to her baby. The unconscious singing happened more often than not in the mornings after a deep slumber. The more she sang the stronger the connection to their little one, who trilled in response as if to awake Tauriel with gladdening good humor. She could never decide exactly what the baby knew and understood, a light brush to her thoughts or a gentle nudge at the wall of her belly. Of late song was curiously happy, a snuggled glow deep inside.

Kili had no resistance to the melody she sang which in itself was an oddity. Tauriel had watched him once when he caught a few of the notes, his hand unconsciously seeking a weapon. It wasn’t to harm her, or their child but a defensive measure for their protection. He told her often in the mornings when she sang in her slumber it was all he could do to stop himself from carrying her away to hide her from all eyes that might find them. It was one of the reasons his leaving was so hard, she knew he would worry endlessly while away.

This morning their babe bumped her in question and feeling of wanting came over her thoughts. Murmuring what little Khudzul she knew, the bump was stronger than before. The gender was still unknown, so the she Elf had not thought to begin searching a name. It would be necessary for more communication in the future but for now, Tauriel could only sing back the hymm that lifted from their little one. There was an occasional flash of thought as if communication was on the brink between them. Feeling the slight punch against her rounding belly, she wished for Kili, for him to know this feeling too.

Tauriel gauged well the position of her retreat, understood how long it would take for him to reach Erebor at a good pace. Their company would be through the forests and to the Long Lake by now. If Thranduil had set upon them, taken them into custody, Kili’s fate might be dire. If Legolas had told his father of her pledge, explaining that her love for him was why she left, her husband would bear as much as she if Tauriel stepped into the Greenwood. A Dwarf and husband of one of the Faithless as Lord Celeborn might have called her, no, her love would see the inside of Mirkwood jails once more.

She wondered absently as she rose from her bed, how much influence the Lady Galadriel had other than on the White Council. Years ago, emissaries from Lothlorien would journey to the cavern palace to treat with all duty, feasted with as much pomp as could be allowed. It was obvious then that Thranduil remembered Lord Celeborn’s Doriath roots as much as the Lady’s stronger presence in their world. If the ties were still as strong then maybe all hope was not lost should he be captured.

The days passed, the sun rose and set with no request for a change in its revolution. The cold boring of daily life drilled her apart until she was brokenly lonely for her love. The endless waiting wasn’t like the years before, Tauriel held his promise of return as soon as he could, leaving his fingerprints on her hips as a surety. Love was illogical, love had consequences, leaving her hanging on the ghosts of his words. Until the day they met again, Tauriel would hold the thought of Kili in her heart and protect him there, cherishing each and always wishing for more.

Few approached her in Caras Galadhon with any conversation not laced with disaffection. The down turned lips of many didn’t sour her outlook though it did make her more introspective. An Elf loved a Dwarf and took him for life, it was foolish to expect happiness and loving greetings. The Elves of Rivendell had been more polite, yet they had not the long history of war and loss that these Galadhrim experienced.

Black swans drifted in the streams that snaked in the trees and homes, their snowy counterparts lumbered in goose waddle on the shores. There was a serenity here that she had missed, something that she could only describe as Elven. Rivendell possessed it, with flowing water and curved bridges rounding into every footpath. The benches set at brookside were for solitude and contemplation, things she had missed in Rohan and Gondor. The Artamirian gardens reminded her of this place but more structured than this natural habitat.

Tauriel sought no company, taking long walks to vent her irritability and push away the longings for her love. The Silvans here were of a different life than the Sindar Grey Elves. They loved and romped under the tall trees, imparting their laughter and swaying like a reed in the marsh. It was their intemperance that Thranduil, more than his father, had been the first to recognize in Silvans, a strange obsession. After all, they are emotionally inexperienced, shut away in the forests with little contact to others. The Silvans stored up the experiences over the hundred years of their life, holding them precious like their stars. He created a cushion or a pillow for their emotions. He bared the world from them for the Silvans own good as well as his own.

Arwen had insisted that she talk with the healer there, one of the Sindar and not as snooty as of the others might have been. A mixed blooded child might have harder consequences on her more narrow Elven body, given rise of the possibility of mortality for herself or the child. Tauriel could only admit privately that it would destroy her totally and probably Kili to struggle through all the hardships they endured to find that they were incompatible for children.

The healer was named Glawareth who had learned her trade in Rivendell under Lord Elrond. Her Silvan mate held her in deepest respect, living in Imladris for years during their courting. Tall and fair, she moved with purpose and never without a smile. Elven pregnancy was treated with care and the expectant mothers pampered in every clan with children being a rare sight. The healer gave no indication she thought differently of Tauriel’s choice of husband. Kili’s last night here caused a stir amongst the great and the goodly, seeing the display as wanton and most unseemly. She was sweet in her admonishments, calling for more food and rest to combat the shadows accenting the Silvan’s green eyes. Glawareth advised her to ride in the mornings if the babe didn’t turn her from food but to rest the afternoon after a healthy lunch.

The Lady Arwen came to collect her after, taking her to sit in an upper aerie. The Undomiel were most emphatic that Tauriel care for herself and partake of food offered as much as she was able. They sat in loungers, watching the activity of so many Elves up in the canopy. The Lady Galadriel had concurred with her daughter’s child, Arwen explained, impressing upon her the need to stay in Imladris when the child came in the summer. Tauriel was in agreement privately, having no notion of Dwarven healers. She didn’t advertise that opinion nor could she without discussing it with Kili first.

The Lady Galadriel didn’t come to them there, allowing their rest and comfort from a distance. She had not come to Tauriel’s thoughts either, not like she had Kili’s. While he had not understood it, the Nenya’s keeper was capable of so much more. Whether it was intended or not, the Lady of Light’s purpose had frightened Tauriel. She was everywhere, part of everything. Staring at Lord Celeborn as he walked a platform on another tree, she could see his own dilemma as spouse to such power.

Tauriel received permission of the Lady Galadriel by way of Arwen to ride Flandif and Gilesgal in the meadows close to the rivers. The horses, recovering from the long flight from Minas Tirith, had begun to bloat slightly from little exercise. Their caretakers were concerned of their intermingling with the Galadhrim stock of Nimrech, if Rohirric horses with their Mearas blood were controllable. Tauriel had sniggered mentally at them, her mares were nothing if not docile in herds. The stallions of their company were the troublemakers. Knowing that she and Kili still had another trip before them to the Blue Mountains, the Elf had every wish that the mares keep themselves as fit as possible to not inhibit the progression of the journey.

Leaving the upper aerie, Tauriel skipped the stairs with excitement at the thought of getting away for a while. The report of her health was a worry and a more food that she already didn’t want to eat. Refusing to allow that to spoil her moment, she jumped the last few steps in a bouncing hop that wasn’t very sedate at all. Tauriel wanted to ride to the vale, letting the wind take her worries for a little while and just be free. Once, her clan had run these meadows, danced in the glades under a full lush moon and twinkling stars. Ages ago before the Sindar came when they quit their damaged Doriath, Silvans were more gracious and never so guarded to hold themselves away from the wood that called like a lover hunting its mate.

While the borders were closely watched, danger still lurked in unexpected places. Taking her bow and blade was prudent, the marchwardens were most vigilant to their lord and lady. The safety of her child in mind, Tauriel knew she could not be over cautious nor dependent upon others if a threat presented itself. Impulsive, yes, never foolhardy. An Egladil guard parted with some arrows to complete her quiver as well as a leaf of Lembas when she approached the barns. The smile the guard gave was a tentative one, pulling Tauriel’s answer from its haunt. Silvan if she could tell by the elleth’s light brown hair with finer blond than the Sindar knew. The Lady Galadriel must have sent word that she was coming for Gilesgal and Flandif awaited her in a corral by themselves.

The morning breeze wound through the gently swaying branches, making their thick boughs clap in ovation. The wind gusted cool but it wasn’t forever. Soon, the hot breath of summer would haze the air in a thick wet coverlet. Tauriel put a simple bridle on Gilesgal, intending to ride bareback for the excursion. Allowing Fandif her freedom for the day was a sign of their partnership, evidence of their continuing bond. The older brown mare would run at her side and return at a call if needed. Gilesgal, displayed her youth like Isen might, a flick of her head or sudden jolt of body. Deciding to ride her instead, annoyed her bark colored companion who stood by swishing her tail in displeasure.

Tauriel laid a comforting hand on Flandif’s head. “I will ride you back, my dear. She and I are better acquainted these last days, though I can never forget you.”

The brown mare knew there was a difference in her rider. Of late on the trail, Flandif would lower her head to blow against Tauriel’s lower abdomen or stretch out her long neck to come within inches of the Elf’s person. Flandif never shoved at her body as was her wont in previous times with impatient huffs. The Silvan wondered how their relationship would change with the coming of a child for the mare had been most accepting of Kili and tolerant of Warg. Flandif’s attitude was indifferent at best to Gilesgal or possessive of Tauriel at its worst.

Swinging onto the black mare’s back, Tauriel rode from the milling Elves. She took the horses over the knolls that formed the earthworks surrounding the Mallorn trees at a walk. The arrowed beams of sunlight shot holes through the canopy, brightening areas and leaving others in shadow. Tauriel was in no rush, no need to risk the mares with injury on unknown ground. The black mare moved at a longer stride, eager for the run. Her pitch pointed ears flickered, attempting to catch each crinkle and chirp. She is as curious of all as my babe, Tauriel thought with a smile as she guided them to towards the northern vales.

Flandif bore no lead nor halter, staying close to their side with her head up as much the black mare. Their conduct bore every mark of guardian protectors, staring at everything with the thought of whether the swaying limb might injure her. Her long Elf sight found no menace, not with the roving bands of Elves who danced from hillock to branch in a bounding leap. It was the pleasure of their company, knowing that they cared for her as much as she did for them that lessened the despair. Patting the mare on the shoulder, they gambled on at a pace until flatter ground allowed for a faster gait.

The air tasted fresh. Pure unadulterated joy filled Tauriel, and for a brief moment she forgot her travelling Dwarf, grinned, and just ran. The wind tore at her hair, waiving it as a banner behind them. The simple love of a day outside, the sun beating down on her, her mares at her side. Tauriel was happy, for the first time in days. The forest life passed inscrutable messages in a monotonous weird chorus that swept up and down the woods, perhaps warnings of things that ate them.

They loped for a time, in crazy eights in the open meadow or darting amongst the saplings. The feeling was carefree as they turned towards the Anduin that marked the boundary into the Mirkwood. She had no thought to cross it, leaving those wants to the background of her mind. The distance closed as Gilesgal burst through the last of the cover with Flandif neighing behind them. It took a split second only to realize, the brown mare called a warning. Gilesgal registered swerving to the left, her head taking in the host before them.

Thranduil, Elven King, had come to the Golden Wood.

She had no knowledge of his coming, and at the minute shock that she had glimpsed on his twisting face, Tauriel had not been expected either. She clinched a handful of Gilesgal’s ebony mane to keep from reaching for a dagger or worse her bow. Six attendants followed, arrayed in travel clothes of hard braided leather than the metal of imminent battle. They wore it for speed, this was a quick trip.

Thranduil had not changed in the years of their separation, an Elf of his high blood would not. The Great Battle had not scarred him as it had others or if it did, his magics covered the ruin. He was still tall, erect with the bearing of the King he wanted to be. Orophir was not in her memory, dead long before her conception by the foul Sauron’s host. There was only Thranduil King of her earliest recollections, unchanged and eternal as the morning star.

The steed he rode was not his Nenrais, the battle Elk who had fallen in the great battle. The stallion under saddle was a fine creature, long limbed with supple muscles straining through the chest and hunches. Fleet if Tauriel was a judge of deep chest covered in silvery skin. He could run for a day and night, never tiring. Taller than her own before him, the stallion would pass the wooded kingdom more smoothly than the wide racked Elk that Thranduil had preferred.

“King Thranduil.” Her tone was civil but it was a fight not to bow to him.

This was not the Mirkwood and days had chased themselves into memory of when she was last his Forest Captain. She would be polite but no more, Tauriel had expected much worse than this at their first meeting. Likewise his escort felt the same, fanning themselves in a ring of protection for the Elven King as if she might attack him. Bottom feeding worms might slink that low as to attack with no provocation for she bore him no ill will. Tauriel had known deep down there was no going back to her old life once she ran the gates in search of her injured Dwarf. If she had, it would have been a life not worth the breath it took to live it.

“Edledhron.” Thranduil steeled himself, erect in the saddle at their first salvo. His eyes caught the sway of her Dwarvish marriage braids with a sneer. “So, you did bind yourself to that _Dwarf_.”

The backlash of the word, the ripple of Exile amongst his host was instantaneous. The hot wave of her anger felt like she had walked into a forest afire for an instant until Tauriel realized that was all he could throw at her. In this place, he had no power over her, not in the Lady Galadriel’s Kingdom. She knew most of his guards, trained with them in off times. They stood in uncomfortable silence, obviously wishing to be away from here. Years, ago such talk would have cut her to the quick, now it exhausted her.

Her body attempted to break at the waist, an act of passive servility.   Too many span of years had she bent in subservience to this ancient monolith to block out habits formed in youth. These habits broke some each day, Kili’s encouragement to be open with herself and the need to shake loose the shackles of fixed repression.

“There is love in him, not your hard arrogance.”

“Is it arrogance when one is truly superior?” A whiff of his scent caught a breeze and drifted to her. The smell bore a metallic edge of violence and anger, spiced with wine and determination.

“It is when you help those in need rise with one hand, then strike them down with the other.” The retort spring to her lips and out in the wind before his mouth had closed. The flashing grown of his anger blazed forth from hard crystal eyes.

Never might she have challenged him this way as the Elven King dismounted his own horse and began to pace, leaving the reins to lie fallow. His eyes glittered and became impossibility whiter, making him look positively lethal. Tauriel fought her instinctual need to brace herself as the wild inside her former king glowered through his stare. Thranduil was stronger than she, supposedly wiser than she. Yet for all that, his anger and his arrogance robbed him of the way to see their world.

Kili said that he was scarred from dragon fire, a long ago duel lost when he thought to defeat a cold Drake and failed. It was a tale told to Dwarf children but carefully omitted in her education. Tauriel could see the glamour moving like a living thing across his face as if the rage he held was hot enough to melt the ivory flesh. This was something new for only she had ever seen the icy distain and not this heated fury. If his pain and blindness pushed him from sight, he purposely dragged the Silvan clan with him.

“This is why a union with my son would have been ill advised. You are too brash, thoughtless and rude. Too Silvan to marry a Sindarin and have children with any sense.” Thranduil scoffed at her with the same rhetoric of old.

His sneering contempt paled her thinking to a flash to older days. Her hands curled into shaking fists, at the mention of children and what hers, no matter the father, would have been. Flushed and angry at his nonsense, Tauriel slid to the ground from Gilesgal’s black oddly awkward. The riot of too many emotions jumbled together before she could sort them, justified his sneering. Anger, fear, exhaustion. However unsteady she might be, she refused to give him satisfaction at mocking her heritage. There was no shame in being born a Silvan, no matter how unwilling they had been to leave their woods for Valinor.

“We are not children to be keep from ourselves! You do them no favors by shutting the Silvans away from the world!” Placing a hand upon her belly, Tauriel snarled back to her former King. “As for my Dwarf, I'll always want him. Until every star goes dark in the night sky and my _Hroa_ is no more than long-forgotten dust in the wind, I will want him. And, even then, I suspect my _Fea_ will long for his.”

The scoff he made would have worried her once, the winded passage of it irritation blowing into a gale of anger. However, she refused to placate him here. His mind was none of hers. Tauriel had been raised to know her duty to King and Kingdom and she had been at peace with it. It was no fantastic placement as an advisor to the High Elves of his council in her future but she had worked hard for what she had achieved. Then a chance meeting with a handsome Dwarf with a love of reckless danger, a sworn enemy of her people. Dwarves were not to be trusted. Crude and greedy, they lacked the grace, the pure souls that Eru had given to his first born, adopting the children of stone for Aule’s sake.

Kili was not her enemy, not his smiles nor love of life. The jokes he made through iron barred doors might have been crude to _higher_ blood but spoke of the same camaraderie she knew with the fellows of her guard. It was familiar, lighthearted, both gentle and rough together. He bore a love of archery, a talent Elves excelled. These things caught the flames of attraction from an eager rustle to a roar of desire.

The act of love sealed their marriage vows upon her _Fea_ , their sin made into a binding covenant that none but gods might break. It was as it should be, love by its nature might be so strong and everlasting to see the daybreak and still yearn for the night sky with that person. Tauriel stared at the contempt upon Thranduil’s face with remorse for what he couldn’t see. She might lose herself in Kili, let the future fall where it may, let kingdoms burn to ashes to be scattered to the four winds. As long as they were together, nothing else matters save love...

“King Thranduil, I thank you for keeping me from harm as an Elfling, for feeding me from your table but that is all. I chose my own path and it begins and ends with Kili.” Her words bore the formality of resignation, of an ending to the ties that could have brought her back to the Greenwood. “Silvans are not less for having their capacity to feel, we take more into ourselves and accept more than any other clan of the Firstborn. Who are you to judge us when there is no love in you?”

Were Legolas here, her words would have been different, a refrain of friendship and long memories rather than the pointed jabs of barbed comments. Legolas had stood between her and Thranduil, glossing over words to give them a different course than the straight purpose of her intent. Legolas whose feelings had become more and more evident in the last years to where his father had thought to mention them. No, she possessed none of those feelings for Legolas, only attachment of a long life together.

“High Elves understand the need to distance ourselves to allow only that which is required. No Silvan has lived to the second millennium mark because they are too free with their emotions, that is why they are of low birth! Look to yourself! Had you any reserve, you would never have chosen a mortal, a Dwarf at that to love!” Thranduil looked down his nose at her, his ire blooming into righteous anger. "So Silvan in your thinking. It will cost you the most, this love of your mortal." The long swirl of his mantle bent wrap at his tall frame, emphasizing the thicker armor that padded his body. “If you are contrite, and beg my forgiveness for your folly, I will allow you home after a sufficient passage of years. This peaceful mercy is for my son, not your own sake.”

His pacing brought him too close to the wall of protection of a stalwart Gilesgal and Flandif neither of whom liked it. Screaming a challenge, the brown mare bounded two leaps at the Elven King, rearing on hind legs to paw at the air over his head. So close was she that the air whipped into a fury, stirring the leaves underfoot but also the escort. Three of the guards rushed forward, one drawing a bow and arrow to aim at her equine companion. Thranduil, himself, danced a step to draw his long sword as Flandif gave chase. Tauriel bellowed at them, yelling for Flandif to withdraw as she tried to hold an angry Gilesgal back from charging into the fray.

Just when she thought the worst of the situation, a small herd of Fintonarki trotted to view with two Elves on horseback. Their curled horns were thicker than a standard ram, and they were closer kin to the goat steeds favored by the Easterlings and Iron Dwarves. Known for their commitment, it should have not surprised her that the Galadhrim might have these beasts amid their trees.

Flandif earthed herself again, giving way to the two dusty dun colored males who snorted themselves between the mare and the Elven King. Four others trotted in place before the escort forming a fluffy wall in front the Elven host. The two Elves rode into the mix, their hands on the horses’ necks with no aide of bridles or saddles.

“Mae govannan. Thranduil, King of Mirkwood.” Haldir spoke as his brother, Orophin, took a place at his side. Their mounts, gray Nimrech bared their teeth while their riders attempted solemnity. “The Lady Galadriel sends her greetings on this unexpected pleasure. My brother will escort you, Tauriel to the healer. She will want to see you.”

Tauriel gripped Gilesgal’s mane tightly as Flandif closed into her side, pushing her lightly into the black mare’s barrel. The horse was not daunted by the Elven King, stepping forward so that her body would cover her rider should the threat from the Elves escalate.

Thranduil snarled at the new arrivals. “Hold, I am not finished with her! We will join you when this is concluded.”

Haldir bowed his head to the Elven King. “Tauriel, wife of Kili, is under the protection of the Lady of Light. My Lord Celeborn will greet you. This way please.”

Orophin rode forward but an enterprising guard tied to stand between him and Tauriel. Thranduil didn’t call his escort back, merely looked angrily at Haldir. The staring went on for a few moments more, a lifetime for the she Elf who was caught off guard by the Galadhrim’s commands.

“She is my subject.” Thranduil gritted out at the mounted warden. “That precludes any marriage or alliance that I did not sanction!”

The marchwarden was most calm of the grouping, watching the Elves arrayed against him. The Fintonarki had not moved, sentinels only in this game of wills and other intentions. The Elven horses watched the exchange as well, flicking their tails at the unseen flies that had been born from the river water.

“Edledhron. That was the name you used in greeting. If she is an exile, you have no power to call her subject.” Haldir signed at last, as if released from an invisible hold. “Since she is an exile, the Dwarves of Erebor may claim her. The braids at her ears testify one has. You cannot have it both ways, my lord.”

Thranduil turned from Haldir before he was finished, stalking back to his horse. Taking this to mean their greetings were done, Tauriel mounted Flandif but gathered Gilesgal’s reins. The brown mare shifted as Orophin’s horse walked close, tossing her head at him. Her equine companion would be hard to settle down after today. Her protection had almost cost her life.

“I have offered a return to the Trees, Tauriel. It will only be offered once.” Thranduil swung up in the saddle, taking up his Kingly mantle. “There will be no peace with your Dwarf, discard him now and come home where you belong. My son will be glad of your return.”

Tauriel stopped for a moment, angered and sad for him. “The Silvans are a part of Middle Earth, _we_ are meant to live life to its fullest. We are _meant_ to experience it all: sadness, disappointment, rage, kindness, joy, _love._ We are meant to test ourselves. It is painful and frightening, but this is what it means to be alive. You are hiding from life there in the Forest. That isn’t peace, only a slow deliberate suicide.” She looked at him at last. “I don’t want peace at that cost, and never at the cost of my love. My regards to your son.”

She wanted nothing that he could offer her, except perhaps his absence. Not a place in his halls, nor seat at his table. Tauriel was done thinking of Mirkwood, of the home she had left. Their lives had divulged so many years ago for choice and the consequences of the same. She was entirely different now, while he stood frozen in time, encased in the icy tomb of indifference. Yet, Tauriel told herself, it was nothing to do with her. She was as removed from him as a comet choosing earth over heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fintonarki – goat breed, about the size of a large Shetland pony  
> Nimrech were elvish bred horses of Arnorian stock, related to lesser Mearas of the Upper Anduin Vales.  
> Galadriel isn’t really in this because I want her to be a little like the Lady behind the curtain. Not that Tauriel is below notice but it will make sense when the Galadriel invites her to the mirror with Arwen. She likes Tauriel, truly..  
> Haldir.. enough said.. Craig parker in LOTR.. yummy… I would love to do a magic mike au with haldir as a stripper..lol, maybe thorin and kili and fili as the backup..  
> Thranduil.. ok.. The only way to totally get his perspective is to get into his head. I see him as feeling betrayed by Tauriel leaving and by extension Legolas leaving, hence the pissyness. I would say he cares about her, but there is the whole loosing face thing before his escort.


	59. Chapter 59

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little darlin' the smiles  
> Have returned to the faces now  
> Little darlin' it seems like  
> Years since you've been here
> 
> Little darlin' its been  
> A long cold lonely winter  
> Little darlin' it feels like  
> Years since you've been here
> 
> ~ Nine Simone - Here Comes the sun ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kili's POV.. and the journey home....
> 
> For MaggieMaye..  
>  A tremendous writer who never fails to say the sweetest things.

The soft bed under his cheek was not Tauriel’s arms around him, only the downy sheets of Bard’s spare room. Kili opened his eyes to a bright room, filled with color and an awaiting day. As a Prince of Erebor returning home with his son, Bard refused to allow the Dwarf to sleep anywhere else. Much back-slapping and tankards followed with the King of Dale happily staring at his son for the evening. Meeting the two Elves and Gandalf had been comical, the women in service to the household stumbling over themselves to offer comforts to their company.

The firelight warmed their late night talk between Elven lords, Princes of the blood be they Man or Dwarf, an unlikely King and a Wizard. It was a nice change to be in a place he knew with people he trusted at his back, no knives waiting in shadowy eves. Dale’s taverns were of a second home to him in last years and more than once, Bard had joined him at a table to talk of old times. The beer last night was of good Dale quality, not as good as Kili quaffed from mountain barrels but the taste brought a smile to his lips nevertheless.

The conversation had turned in part to the Elves and explanations began on the host that had arrived at his city. Hearing of the Lady Galadriel’s interest as well as garnering the attention of a Wizard obviously shocked the King of Dale. The Dwarf went on to explain the reasons and some of the why fors to some of the necessary precautions but not all of them. The Lady Galadriel’s actions were her own and it wasn’t his place to speculate.

Thranduil’s reinforcements stayed out of the city proper, taking to the trees to defend against encroachers. They worked with little or no direction from Bard but had been advised to keep out Dwarves unless it was specific representatives of the King under the Mountain. The Elven King had been to Dale on and off of late, staying in the woods outside the walls with his cadre. Bard was of the opinion things were claimer in the Greenwood but he had no real news of its workings.

The King of Dale’s questions of Tauriel and her health were general with a fearful undertone. Had he thought Kili would find her dead, the King didn’t say but rejoiced with him at their reunion and celebrated the new braids of a claimed and married Dwarrow. Bain and Dorlad as well as the others had agreed to keep the news of the child to themselves at least for the moment. The celebration of the Prince of Dale’s homecoming was the forefront and Kili’s successful quest was a blessing. The Dwarf wanted no additional thoughts to his wife and no talk of his child until he spoke with Fili.

Elrohir had sneaked away sometime in the night, leaving the Galadhrim archer to stay with the grouping. Lord Elrond’s son was quieter than the other Elf but smiled much more readily. Erethon was still not his favorite but he took in each discovery in the Mannish town with iridescent delight carefully hid behind a calm facade. After being with Tauriel, it was easy to see how the Elves enjoyed life and how they tried to hide their reactions to it. A quick look, a quirk of his lips and a widened expression were all Erethon gave to city. Bound as they were in social stoicism, it was a shame they didn’t let go as his One had to feel the world around them in such a way, and enjoy it to the fullest.

If they had another hundred years in each other’s presence, Kili might have pushed the Elf might take up Dwarven drinking games. Trying and failing to draw him out of himself, the Dwarrow had given up to allow the male his own space so the Elf could accidently catch some enthusiasm. Too dour with no curiosity that one. However, Kili surmised as he rose from the bed, there are limits that even Mahal have placed upon the backs of Dwarves. A limit of snooty Elvish company too. He could only hold back his annoyance for too long at the apathetic creature. One Elf wasn’t as good as another, where the company of his lovely wife was most lively and Erethon’s was not.

Grumbling down the back stairs as he shook into a tunic, Kili was greeted by the cook and the housekeeper fawning over Dorlad and Bain with tarts and cider. The Dunedain would be leaving with him after their business here was concluded. Kili couldn’t say when Dorlad might come back this way to see the good friend he had in Bain so he gave them time alone to search out Bard. As King, he would have the most information to tell and the way on how to get home.

Finding the previous bargeman in a rounded study with Gandalf and the Elves, Kili took a seat on a bench with a captured tart that he had swiped from the kitchen when the maids’ backs were turned. “What goes on here?” He caught Bard’s eye as he took a bite of the pastry. “What is Dain up too?”

“The official complaint is that the Ironfoot’s resources are stretched due to enforced migration back to the Mountain. He cannot keep up his production if his workers are not there to mine and forge.” Bard took a deep breath to continue. “Dain swears that your brother is also holding his cousin and other Dwarrowdams against their will.”

Kili scoffed. “I heard that my brother intends a seraglio. As if Sigrid would permit him the use of his stones for the adventure.”

Bard smiled at that while the Elves remained indifferent. Gandalf pondered something, his gaze faraway in thought. Kili looked around at what could only be Bard’s study as the King asked questions of the Elves. Richly done in carved wood, the Dragonslayer had allowed the craftsmanship to stand as the decoration. Shelves lined the corners of the room with more books than Kili could remember seeing in any one place save Erebor’s archives. Ori would love this room, he thought as he looked out the fine diamond shaped windows. No doubt, the scribe had as many tomes of boring history than this in his own quarters.

The conversation drew him back as Bard discussed their going to the mountain. The Stiffbeards from the Forodwaith had arrived just into the new year. Related to both combatants in the situation, by Fili and Kili’s father Vali and Dain’s wife Kibil, they had been the ones asked to arbitrate. They were also one of the few who might come at speed in a cold unforgiving landscape. Any reinforcements from Ered Luin wouldn’t not arrive until later summer due to the frozen passes through the Misty Mountains. As Durin’s folk, they might feel the need to choice a side in the conflict between the King and his vassal.

“Dain has tried to treat with us, promising things that are not his if we cut off the Mountain.” The gritted anger rolled off the former bargeman. Dain was as stupid as his pigs if he thought Bard would abandon his children or grandchildren.

“He thinks to divide you with outrageous slander of Fili taking others to his bed beside your daughter.” Gandalf stated as he pulled out his long pipe stem. “I am of a mind that he thinks that Fili’s marriage was political like his rather than the love it actually was.”

Bard’s forehead crinkled as he thought. He paced the floor to ceiling windows that looked out on to the gardens out back. Posture stiff as the Dwarves who ranged outside between here and the mountain, Kili had no idea at his thoughts or what trails they ran. Much rested on the Man’s shoulders, his people’s safety, his children and the fate of his grandchildren. He could see Bard trying to think of a way for them to resolve this mess with everyone coming out of it alive.

Time spent rubbed against Gondorians and Rohirric had changed him, Kili pondered. Man was by instinct a lover, a hunter, a fighter, endlessly trying to prove to the gods that his race is worthy of the longevity gifted to others. Their lives were not endless, nor was a Dwarf’s but shorter still than the Children of Mahal. Bard had lived half of Kili’s life and he could see the evidence of the unforgiving lash of fate upon him. Grayer temples than he remembered, more lines at the eyes and mouth. Bard’s body was still strong for a Man, he still stood erect before them. But for how many years?

“I have a question.” Kili asked him quietly. “Why are you sending caravans to the Mountain? I had heard it was for food but that would have been taken care of already.”

Bard smiled but didn’t turn. The smile told Kili that there was a stratagem involved, some reason that underlined all of the subterfuge. The Elves rose themselves from the chairs they had taken at the King’s behest to walk to the room, or to give the illusion of privacy. It mattered little but Kili refused to tell them that. If they were bound for the Mountain with him, than they would learn it themselves once they arrived.

“Fili sent a third of the dry food stores to the village before Yule for covert smuggling. You remember what I did before I stepped up to Dale’s throne.” Bard chuckled as Kili’s face soured a bit at the memory of the fish barrels. “Along with the food, he sent as many of the extra armor and weapons they could spare at the time that might be used by a Man to help get us ready should we be attacked. The only thing they do not have at the mountain is the raw ore. Dain shut off any iron coming to Erebor once his ambassador, Vigg son of Olgr, slunk home with his tail tucked between his knees. We have been sending old iron that was stored and scrap metal used during the last battle back disguised as food shipments. Basically anything we could salvage that could be reforged until Dain began his blockage.” Bard’s smiled stayed in place as he turned. “Thranduil was kind enough to send some archers for our ‘protection’ but for truth, the Elven King is fair itching to take a swing at the Ironfoot for the comments the Dwarf Lord made when he arrived here five years ago.”

Gandalf chuckled as Elrohir shook his head. “Thranduil’s ego is like a peach’s skin, easily bruised. I imagine he will be along soon to watch this for himself. But who have the Stiffbeards sent as arbitrator? Surely, no one who had direct blood ties with either party? It would never be impartial that way.”

“There are two, Glorin son of Hain Blackflame and a female Umli named Bais.” Bard looked slightly uncomfortable. “She is quite fierce as is her host.”

Kili listened a while to the conversation. It wasn’t the speculation of the arbitrators that held his attention but the thought of seeing Thranduil, King of Mirkwood. The Elven King would come if Fili called him but that would make him look weak or weaker than he already did. Why his brother thought to call upon the Stiffbeards for what might be considered an internal problem amid the Durin’s Folk made no sense at all. Unless, the Athane was careful in this situation, the other Dwarf lords might withdraw their allegiance to the Mountain and devolve back into seven indifferent clans.

If they were looking to outside interests, the Stiffbeards were the best. They had ties to both parties via Vali Axehand and Kibil, Dain’s wife. As far as Kili knew they had no ambition to come from their frozen holds so far to the north. Even, Laulumistaja, the Stiffbeard Kili had met south of Rivendell in the Dunedain village had longed for home in the cold to be comforted by the songs of the Rekikoirat sled dogs.

“When do we leave?” Kili asked as he stood.

There was no point in his mind to wait, it just delayed his reunion with Tauriel. The others saw his eagerness but mistook it for the beleaguered nature of Erebor rather than his impatience for his wife. He allowed the ideal to grow in their minds instead of how meanly he would appear at the correction. Kili loved his brother would give his life for him, but he would also live for his wife and see his child grow.

Bard walked with him to the doors with the Elves following. “The Stiffbeards will meet you at the boundary and give fair conduct from there. The Iron Dwarves will no doubt test you if you are recognized.”

Gandalf gave him a withering look at Bard’s words as if Kili was the only one of his acquaintance that had a history of recklessness. The Dwarf lengthened his stride for the kitchen, to discuss with Dorlad the travel arrangements and grab some water skins for the last of his journey. The ladies were still gathered at the table much as he had left them, listening with rapturous envy at the Bain and Dorlad’s tales. Standing in the doorway, he listened until he realized much of the story had been omitted or glossed over. The beauty of the White city without the black stain of slavery. The rolling plains of Rohan dotted with glorious horse herds not colored with the enmity of Mannish arrogance.

“Minstrels you both should be for the license you have taken with the truth!” Kili joined them, laughing. Bain shot him a careful look but said nothing else.

The women must have been unnerved by a happy Dwarrow, shook themselves and rejoined their tasks. His forehead crinkled as he watched the ladies in confusion at their darting looks and wide eyes. His smiles came readily now, without provocation and it was odd for those possessed no memory of it. The ease of those muscles moving of their own accord was not new but had a profound effect on those who saw it. The maids’ surprised scrutiny bore the truth of it. In finding his One, Kili the Grim was laid to rest in Dale and hopefully in Erebor.

“We ride for the Lonely Mountain. Would you like to join us or remain here?” Kili asked Dorlad as Bain put down his crust of bread. He would rather see his friend stay in the safety of Dale than risk a mattock to the head because an Iron Dwarf thought himself entitled to the action.

“I can be ready in about an hour.” Bain told him as he rose from the stool, not seeing his father standing behind him. The look of surprise on the Bargeman’s face spurred Kili forward.

“No, Bain. You can’t risk the exposure. The Iron Dwarves will come for me on the trail if they know who I am or worse try to take you as a hostage against your father.” Kili reasoned or tried with the young Man before him.

Bard’s tension leaked from his body, his expression of relief that Kili was the one who brought this to Bain’s attention rather than foolishly jumping into the fray. But as Bard stress waned, Bain’s increased like a lightening flash. He turned slowly to look at his friend and for the instant, Kili realized what Bard had been seeing last night. The Man who would be King of Dale one day, the young Prince of his people stood tall and unwavering as strong as his purpose in life.

With steel jawed stubbornness, Bain gazed at Kili. “We started this journey together. You watched my back and I guarded yours. I will see this ended at your gates, Kili, son of Vali, where it began. You are my friend and extended family and _none_ shall tell me no.”

He walked from the room, taking with him all sound and thought. Even the maids watched in fascination at his back, most likely they were of like minds that this boy was not so much a boy but the King in Waiting. Their Prince if ever one could be named that. The shocked quietude was broken at the bark of laughter from the Dunedain who rose to follow him.

Dorlad looked at Kili as he made for the door to follow Bain. “The Prince has spoken, master Dwarf, to horse with you. Think not that you will leave me here after all the roads we have travelled together either! I would see for myself this Mountain that everyone covets!”

The preparations took less time that Bain had asked with Isen prancing on the cobbles for his master. Bard walked with Kili to help with Warg. “Thank you for trying. I know that it was hard but I do thank you. He had grown in the time away and you brought him home to me.”

Taking the offered hand, Kili grinned. “He wasn’t lying when he said he guarded my back. I owe him much. He talked of Lake Town on the journey here. You might consider allowing him a lordship there.”

Bard was taken aback by his frank speech but his looks became contemplative. The lands have been tamed by Men who grasped the sword and walked boldly into the fray to face the unknown. It took more in the end than just a sharp edge and guts to hold this place and make it their own. It required the foresight to know the battles that needed to be fought and others where a softer touch might accomplish more. The line of Girion had enjoyed the power they had earned at the roots of the Lonely Mountain but had fallen like the Dwarves when confronted with Dragon fire.

Looking around the square, Kili surmised that the race of Men were just as resilient as Mahal’s children. The inhabitants of Laketown had settled in the abandoned Kingdom, taking it back from the wilds and making it their own again. Thorin had promised these people when they were starving in Laketown that he would see them rise along with him. But it was his brother Fili, and Bard who had delivered on the promise.

Bard was sending a few of own people, so instead of a company it became a caravan. Reclaimed anchors and old swords found in dry inlets of the Lake over the cold winter had been broken down for easier travel. Stored in extra pouches on the backs of the guards as well as the others, the group mounted up for the last ride. The King could not ignore the opportunity and sent some treats to the children as well as flour and sugar to give a break to the stored rations they had for the last three months.

Pulling on a plain helm that he favored, Kili looked no different than any other Longbeard. The cheek guards covered many of his features and the longer backing covered much of his head. His marriage braids were tucked behind his hears as the helm sat in place, completely obscured by the metal covering. The maids had brushed off his Gondorian style gambeson, the fine construction marking him as an outsider. He wore no badge of office nor other noticeable markings of any clan. Misconceptions might be the very thing required to prevent bloodshed that would throw a torch into a barrel of oil.

Though he had been recognized at his arrival, Kili felt no less for being here. The cold, disgusted eyes held the same hateful look of the ‘dams and peripheral Dwarves that had disavowed themselves of him for his miscegenating ways when the rumors spread of his love of an Elf. There was the possibility that it was because he was a royal Dwarf that might have a hand in their current woes or some offense he had dealt to them in the past, none advised him one way or the other. If these people judged him for his love, that was on their own heads no less than on the Elves who thought him less or the Men who coveted immortality more. Taking the saddle, he was ready for it to end, to take his love and child to live their life together. Far from the madding crowds, their life would have peace and happiness.

Gandalf spoke quietly with Elrohir with Erethon trailing behind them. Bard, Bain and Dorlad stood off side with their mounts. Bard could not risk capture, it would erode his bargaining positon. The air was cold, the skies a brittle gray cracked with splintered clouds. The leaves had fallen before Durin’s day, ground into the soil for spring nourishment, leaving scraped bare trees. _And no concealment_. Any attacks would have a lesser chance of surprise from rock cover. There were only a few formations between here and the Overlook that might be a worthy place to ambush.

They rode from the town gates in single file, hands on ready hilts. Kili couldn’t pretend there were wasn’t a danger to his friends and it would hurt more if something happened needlessly. Here at the end, he was glad for Bain and Dorlad. They stood beside him, rode with him, ignored his black mood and frenzied love for his wife. They were among those he loved as close as kin, he would call them Dwarf friend for the whole of their lives and after.

Gandalf’s mood was somber as they rode. “Forget your woes for the moment. Remember the quiet wonders, young Kili. The laughter of your lady, the child that comes. The world has need of more of them than it has for warriors.”

“Warriors are good folk, too. My wife is a warrior and would match her blade against any other.” Kili smiled at the Wizard.

It _was_ a worrisome thing to know his wife would march into any fray. Several times on the road, in their travels over the winter he had to stop himself from bodily pulling Tauriel behind him to shield her. Kili knew her worth in battle, crossed swords with her in sparing despite their mock fights evolving into more pleasurable conflict at the end. She was deadly as she was beautiful with thrice his years in practical experience. And none of it would keep him from leaping to her defense even if she swatted him like a fly after.

Fighters of the Khazad aren’t born, they are made. Under the right conditions, most can be forged into warriors. Dwarves are natural fighters but only a few embrace the way of the warrior. These few not only understand the heart and truth in the art of combat, they are its most willing apprentice. They suppress all emotion and needless compassion so that nothing stands between them and destroying their enemy. Dwalin was one of these, Kili thought, a Dwarf who could push aside Mahal himself to reach his target to let his axes drink the blood of his foe.

A culture has to be set into practice that allows for the formation of a battle class, like Dwarrows. Dwarf children are giving leather gripped training hilts to carry with them so that the feel of it becomes as familiar as touching their own body. But, at heart, some Dwarrows hope there is no war. They follow orders, they respect the chain of command, and when occasion calls for it, they will perform heroic deeds for the good of the many. Given a chance, they prefer to avoid combat and, if forced to go into battle, they fight so they can eventually go home.

Kili knew he had never focused with that level of a warrior’s determination. He had never longed for the sting of battle until he had no reason left to stay alive. Now, his sensibility was simple. If an arrow didn’t bring it down, a sword or two at the knee would. Barring that, call for reinforcements.

They reached the boundaries between what might be the Kingdom of Dale and the beginning of Erebor’s lands. The slate colored rocks were still frosted, white and black at once. The path wasn’t steep here but they were not far from the Overlook. Historically, there was a blending, a distinct blurring of the borders between the two kingdoms. Dale and Erebor each possessed the necessaries that the other needed, acting as a shield and spear against their common enemies. It was what made Girion’s failure so much harder to bear than just not killing the Dragon, a harsh anger that colored every story he had heard as a child of Ered luin. Thranduil turning aside to protect his people and fail to help the escaping Dwarves had cracked his grandfather, Thrain’s will to send him into unreasonability.

Dain’s Iron dwarves were boldly sitting on the wayside of the next bend, looking as if they had the right to do so. An interesting quartet armed with spiked mattocks, axes and battle helms, they cut an impressive figure astride the ponies rather than the boars of a sounder. The afternoon’s weak light sparkled off the razored edge of their weapons, a sign of either too much time or too much eagerness. It didn’t bode well in any event.

Gandalf pulled his mount to a halt with Elrohir at his right side in front of Kili. The wizard sat back on his horse, pulling his staff upright. With his back to them, he could assume that the Gray Pilgrim was just as unhappy as Kili for being stopped by interlopers. A murderous floe tingled through his veins, a warning of the burn of frozen anger. It would duel in his body with the white hot bliss stinging and prickling his skin with vicious need to brain the Dwarrow into tucking tail and running for home.

“Stand aside, I am Gandalf the Gray and I have business with Fili, King under the Mountain!”

“Dain Ironfoot rules this land, Tharkûn. If you have business in Erebor, it is to him you will speak.” A squatted Dwarf spit to the side but his eyes never left the assembled.

The tense mood bothered Kili little as he tried to hold his head a little lower. Piebalds were common enough at a glance but Warg’s attitude set him apart from a common herd. An archer on a black and white pony would garner closer inspection. Gripping Orcrist’s pommel, he held still to no draw any attention to himself or the cloak covered bow and arrow at his side.

“I am sure that is the Ironfoot’s intention for the future, however Fili son of Vali holds the Mountain throne. It is he that we have come to treat with. Now stand aside.” Gandalf punctured his words with an echoing boom of his voice. His staff emitted the faintest hum that was slightly louder than a bee’s buzzing at the ear.

Warg snorted under him, sidestepping to the left into one of Men of Dale’s horses with his head still at the cropping to the right. It was the only warning he had when three Dwarves jumped from the rock, pushing aside the gray cloaks that obscured him against the stone. From the other side of their line close to Bain and Erethon, three mounted boars charged from the brush to spear through the company and separate their formation. Isen screamed from the rear louder than the pigs that ran low in a circle at the group’s outer perimeter.

Kili yanked the Elven broadsword, letting loose the reins as a Dwarf mounted pony charged them from the front. Yelling his rage at the rotund Dwarrow who twirled his axe above his head, Kili lay heels to Warg’s sides to joust his opponent out of the way before he could strike at Elrohir. The pike came out of nowhere, the wood spear smashing across his helm in a stunning blow. Unable to stop the momentum, Kili rolled off the piebald’s back to land face first on the ground.

The sounds of battle came back to him in a rush as he shook off the shock and awe of the sudden contact with the rocky path. Rising quickly to his hands and knees, Kili lunged to take Orcrist’s hilt and roll out of the way of a stamping horse. The taller animals with their longer legs were at a disadvantage against the smaller mounted ponies and boars. This had been the better place of ambush, the terrain assisting their enemies. His attacker lunged forward with a plowed tipped spear as Kili swung his sword to parry the blow from his kneeling position.

The attacker caught him in the side under the arm where the padding was weak, a glancing blow that gouged off flesh and hit rib. The scored feeling was a hit nonetheless, swatting the wood with his vambanced forearm to prevent it from digging further for a death blow. The tenor of the brawl had changed around him as the Elves and Men rallied and fought. Dorlad crashed into the back of his opponent giving Kili a chance to stand and get back it the battle.

The Elvish horses separated from Elrohir and Erethon to take on the mounted ponies while their riders fought against the boars on foot. The horses reared, kicking and bucking at them to withdraw. Elves and Men and Dwarves clashed repeatedly, metal and wood staves clanging in rippling symphony of wrath and ruinous peace. Elves and Men fought against Dwarf while Dwarf and Wizard with Man fought against Dwarrow and Boar.

With blood running hot from his side, every lunge, thrust and block took more strength than the last. Kili’s fight was as cold as his wrath but he could feel the essence of life slipping in each drip. He gave as good as he got, taking one Iron Dwarf with a knife to large vein in the leg nearest the groin when he tried to hook the pike end of his mattock into Kili’s neck. The blood that gouted out was the exact shade of rust, proof that dwarves bleed the iron as much as sweat. The great Smith had made it part of them as the stone they had leapt from at their awakening but flesh gave way to steel just as easy in Dwarves as it did in Men.

A turn to the left, strike, spin to the right, block. He was beginning to get confused by the constant motion when a great howl went up over the hill, a warbling carol of a different beast then what he knew. The Dwarf he fought gasped then ran for path that lead up the hill to a dry wash that would take him to the river. He had no idea what that noise was or what would cause the Iron Dwarf to take such a turn.

He got his answer quickly when four behemoths broke through some scrub brush, snarling as they tugged a wood sled behind them. Larger than common breeds that he had seen in the Arda but still smaller than a Warg, the dogs’ snowy white fur covered thick muscle with the occasional blotch of black or brown. Blue eyes squinted at them as another sled broke into the trail with an odd yodeling bark that was answered by the second team. Three Dwarves dressed in white fur trimmed leather and light blond hair walked around the back of the rekikoirat harnesses into view.

_Stiffbeards_

Hard bitten from the looks of them, their faces where a mass of braids capped with iron beads that Kili knew that were not daily wear. Metal in their beards, even that small amount might freeze to the skin. This was a decoration only, a point that this clan was no different than any other child of Mahal. Horses screamed in panic as the sleddogs snarled in their yokes at the retreating pigs who scurried away on shorter legs.

Two of the Dwarves held back as their leader approached Gandalf who bowed his head in greeting. “I am Gandalf the..”

The Stiffbeard looked and dismissed the wizard, interrupting him rudely. “We know you, Staff man.” He walked a short distance passed him to stop before Kili. “State your name and allegiance.”

Looking over the others, Kili removed his helm to get a good look at the Dwarf before him and so that the Stiffbeard could get a load of him. The others were well, Bain’s Elven spear tip was coated in blood with what looked like a bruise coming up on Dorlad’s chin. Glad to see the Elves in fine form, he turned back to the Dwarf who looked Kili over with an interested air.

Kili could understand the need of the interrogation but liked it none at all. Helm in one hand and Orcrist in the other, he faced the Stiffbeard. “I am Kili of Durin’s Folk, son of Vali Axehand, brother to Fili crowned King under the Mountain. Dis, daughter of Thrain, son of Thror is my Amad.”

His braids told the story of his family and marriage but he would not speak of Tauriel to this Dwarf. Kili wore the plaits with no less pride than the Stiffbeards and would account himself no less than they. Standing as tall as he could from the scrapped agony under his arm, Kili watched a grin split the blond beard.

“I am Boron, son of Bor. Kazhunki Wyr to Glorin, son of Hain Blackflame.” The grinning twinkle in his blue eyes so like Fili’s, Kili wondered if he was kin. He took Boron’s hand in welcome. “Honored am I to welcome home the King’s Justice and son of the Axehand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rekikoirat – The Stiffbeard sleddogs found them on LOTR MERP site.  
> Kazhunki Wry is Khudzul for snow rider, a title given to a captain of sorts.
> 
> I thought this was a good stopping point. I wanted a long explanation of what Kili felt on coming back without Tauriel and his first sight of the Mountain in almost a year with all these feelings he has now and make a good impression with the Umli and Nenrai.  
> I was looking at youtube vids on when Dain shows up and all the lovely things he says to Thranduil before he takes on the Orcs. Keep finding interesting stills of Kili in his Dwarvish armor, then I looked up his pics in Poldark.. I am sure I am in the minority but I think Aiden Turner looks hotter as Kili than Poldark..not that I would kick either out of my bed for eating cookies..unless they didn’t share…


	60. Chapter 60

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lacrimosa   
> Lacrimosa dies illa,  
>  qua resurget ex favilla  
>  judicandus homo reus.  
>  Huic ergo parce, Deus,  
>  pie Jesu Domine,  
>  dona eis requiem. Amen.   
> Translation of the Lacrimosa from Mozart's requiem....  
> That day of tears and mourning,  
>  when from the ashes shall arise,  
>  all humanity to be judged.  
>  Spare us by your mercy, Lord,  
>  gentle Lord Jesus,  
>  grant them eternal rest. Amen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kili's POV then Galadriel
> 
> I want to thank everyone who still reads this very very long fic I have attempted.. When I started, I never thought it would go so long or be this big.. 
> 
> Thanks you all for reading, commenting, kudos and putting up with my horrible grammar and missing words

 

 

Kili sunk to his knees in the exhale, suddenly tired for the exertion and blood loss. The boisterous laugh of the Stiffbeard covered his groan of pain. There was scurrying at his sides with Dorlad taking his helm and sword as the Wizard pushed aside Boron to get to Kili. The other Stiffbeards stood at their leader’s back but keeping an eye on the surroundings.

Erethon peeled away his gambeson, pulling a small blade from a hidden sheath to cut the Dwarf’s tunic and expose the wound. The pain made Kili hiss at him. “Keep your wits about you, master Dwarf.” Erethon grumbled as he worked. “I will not foreswear myself before my Lady by allowing your death.”

Trying to lighten the mood, Kili quipped to him. “No need to ask who you fear the most. An injured Dwarf, my grieving wife or the Lady of Lorien.”

“The grieving Elleth would give me pause.” The archer didn’t look at him but took some ointment handed to him by Elrohir.

His touch was more gentle than his demeanor, even when he packed the wound with some spare linen before winding more about Kili’s torso. The others checked themselves and each other for injuries that might not be readily felt. The animals calmed down from the stirring fight, however the infrequent bark of the sleddogs irritated some. The two Stiffbeards walked away to check the downed Iron Dwarves, confirming their death. Three dead, their bodies crumpled against the shale made Kili sick inside. Two would have taken his life with no thought but they were Durin’s folk and the responsibility of his brother.

“We cannot leave them.” Kili said at last once he stood.

The others looked at him with varying expressions. After so long with Bain and Dorlad, he could see that they would be of his mind about it. The Elves bore their closed expressions but there was a lightening about Elrohir that Kili might have assumed to be approval. It was a defining moment in his life, a moment that would set the tone for the rest of his existence. Either he acted with honor to the fallen or allowed them to become carrion. Gandalf was a bit down in the mouth about being so brushed aside by Boron of the Stiffbeards and no little help.

“They pursued treason against the King. Dain Ironfoot knew this to be traitorous and so did these who have left to sit in the Halls of Waiting.” Boron looked to the Dwarves with disgust. “You would want such foulness to burn at your delving? Their deeds will be accursed.”

They could not see the path, nor could Kili at that instant. Everything they were, and everything they might be balanced on a single decision. These were the times, ungoverned by happenstance or untroubled by luck. How might the course of the Durin’s folk lives have changed if Thranduil had ridden to their aid years ago rather than turning aside? As in that time and any other, an individual earns his right for a place in the world or not according to his whim.

“They are Durin’s folk.” Kili said simply. “Once I might have let them lie to rot rather than be burned to ash if they offended me or mine, no longer. They are following their mad King, they wouldn’t be here if not for him. At the end of this fight, there will be a reckoning of deeds. We should make every effort to do the right thing so that our songs are not as cursed as theirs.”

Numbness spread up his side, a strange sister to pain. Time stretched, became like a membrane of iron elasticity while the Stiffbeards mulled over his request. It cocooned his mind from the body that was injured, saving the sanity at the expense of feeling. Kili blurred and dimmed in a rainbowed world of haloed color. Elrohir handed him a small vial, glass and very unassuming. Kili drank it down, never asking if it would heal him or spend him sprawling. The effect was immediate, the world sharpened in quick relief and every footstep was as loud as Stone giants in battle.

“Not many would have a care for their enemy.” Boron told him as he paced away from the grouping. “Not many _would_ care. I see your point and agree to the purpose but I will not carry them on my sleds, nor will my hounds bear the weight of a traitor.”

“My horse will bear some of them.” Dorlad stepped forward. “He cannot carry all but he can take some.”

Two of the Dale swordsmen came forward with similar vows, helping the others load the dead Dwarves on the horses’ backs. The process took little time with Erethon staying at his shoulder for it. When he tried to step forward, the progress was halted by an Elven hand on his shoulder. Elrohir took a position at his rear, a feeling of oddity came over him at the situation. He was a Dwarf, of Durin’s folk at Erebor, yet here on the plains before the delving he was protected by Elves. Thorin would have kittens.

Buffeted by the tonic, Kili weaved his way to Warg who sniffed at him. The pony smelled the blood, squealing lightly at it. He rubbed the mane, twirling his fingers into before trying and failing to pick up the reins. Elrohir stepped forward before Erethon with a grin. His short swords at his back brushed against the spotted hide when he stooped to pick up the leather cord and flip it over the pony’s long neck.

“I don’t remember you when I was in Rivendell last.” Kili said suddenly, surprised himself at the statement. There had been little conversation between he and Lord Elrond’s son on their journey. “Nor your twin.”

“We were not there. We take Estel, Dorlad’s nephew, into the North for training. He is getting better now that Legolas Greenleaf as joined us.” It was a simple explanation from a simple Elf but the mention of the Prince of Mirkwood stirred the Dwarf.

“I have not seen him, Legolas, and had expected too at some point in this trip.” Kili knew not what else to say. The shock of the news was a distant thing in his active mind.

Groaning loudly he took the saddle, swaying into the comfortable cradle of it. Looking over the side of the pony, he had a short way to fall on unforgiving stone. Elrohir stepped to him, laying a hand upon the two that clutched at horse hair and leather for dear life.

“Legolas has found a purpose with the Rangers.” The Elf looked to him with the darker eyes and concerned appearance. “His road has been no better than yours, and the loss was just as dear.”

Gandalf walked to him then, turning the Elf aside. The pondering on his statement was for another time and deeper understanding. Legolas had left the Greenwood, taking a position with the Rangers of the North? What loss could he have mentioned that would take the Thranduil’s son from his realm?

Glorin mushed his sled to the other side of Warg. Gandalf looked to the Stiffbeard but led Elrohir away to their mounts. As eager with the drunken feeling of the tonic riding his senses, Kili gave Boron a tipsy smile. The sled driver looked to him queerly, then shook his massively shaggy head. The braids were thick and wound tight with beadwork so that it touched his face on both sides. There was a wife in the North waiting for him and at least two sons if he was reading the marriage braid correctly. He wore his warrior braid with obvious pride and what looked to be bone beads woven into it. What kind of life did the Stiffbeards lead in the North to use bone?

“Durin’s Folk must have been very thankful of your presence here.” Kili began slowly, trying to choice the right words to get more answers to the whys of the Stiffbeards being there. “Dain might have grievance but the reasons I have heard for this conflict are ludicrous. He is my cousin and never had he been so stupid.”

Boron took the helm and sword from Dorlad, handing them to Kili. He watched him closely to make sure that he didn’t fall or accidently poke the pony with Orcrist’s pointy end or the broken cross guard. Satisfied that he was fine, the Stiffbeard laid a hand on the back of the dog’s head with open affection. He couldn’t move away fast enough to avoid the drooling lick of his Rekikoirat.

“Who needs a reason for betrayal in this world?” Boron sighed as he touch each dog and gave them a small word of praise before turning back to Kili. “One must always think the worst even of your own kin. That way, you avoid too much disappointment and possibly a dagger in the back.”

That sort of thinking was well and good advice for the coming days, Kili thought as he clucked his tongue at his mount. Two Kings could never occupy the same Kingdom. They set off again at a slower pace, paired with their Dwarven escort. The laden horses picked and stumbled over shale with the sled dogs dinging into the loose rocks in a frantic scramble. They pulled the same as a horse might, with thicker chested animals closest to the sled. Radagast had a team of his rabbits to pull something similar, the woven branches making for a lighter load than a wheeled cart.

Bain attempted conversation as Isen snorted at the large sled dogs. “I've read that if an avalanche buries you and you're lying there underneath all that snow, you can't tell which way is up or down. You want to dig yourself out but pick the wrong way, and you dig yourself to your own demise.”

The sled rider looked Bain over, cataloging every part of the young Prince. If he found defect, there was no mention. The Stiffbeard bore a confused expression then shrugging further with no obvious idea how to respond. There had never been so much snow in their section of Rhovanion that the word ‘avalanche’ might be used. In the tunnels, it was always a threat if the Mountain was ill at ease. But rocks killed faster than snow. Even the stone bones of a Dwarf could take so only much pounding before they splintered and broke into powder.

Bain’s curious nature made Kili smile despite the pain in his side. There was no peaceful languid condition to his muscles, bunch hard they were as steel lined flesh might be. The wound would be source of ribbing from his family, that he had travelled the length of Arda only to be hurt on his own doorstep. He would take it for only to see his brother again and know that he was well. Fili had been in his thoughts of late, the tumble of guilt that cycled in his mind when it wasn’t occupied with worry over Tauriel. The King’s Justice, Boron had called him, his reputation revitalized for the misdemeanors of the blackened five years without his love. Now faced with it all in clear sight, Kili was glad he was leaving. He couldn’t bear a child of them to know that Kili had been committed atrocities in a grief fueled life. Not every kill had been a clean one, nor had every strike to a foe not been laced with heavy ale in his veins.

They reached the paths that led to the open plain before Erebor in good time. Beyond the Overlook, another company of Dwarves stood in a group. Iron Dwarves in battle dress, some four or five in a tight formation of a sounder. These were the ones that needed their fear if ever a Dwarf should fear another. Abkarul Hakhd, the serrated sheaths gleamed in the sunlight, hungry and waiting. The wind brought the light grunting of the boars as they stamped hooves upon the rock in a drumming refrain. The ones who had quit the fight at the presence of the Stiffbeards had run for reinforcements, bringing their fellows to stand at the watch.

Boron and his comrades pulled ahead to take position between the travelers and the Iron Dwarves. He looked over his shoulder to the Men of Dale, indicating where the dead should be left. Nothing was said as they pushed the bodies from the horses’ backs. The drop wasn’t long, a slight thump of the hard hit and clang of metal on stone. Dispassionately, the Stiffbeards mushed to their sleds, their duty to the situation done. They felt no more to see to the dead than they might any other.

Hatred feasted on hatred in the eyes of the Iron Dwarves. The mood of the watchful turned sullied red of spilled blood at the Dwarves that lay on the path side. One or two gestured behind them, pointing to their fellows’ position. Kili squashed the desire to open a dialogue with them, he was no orator as Balin was. Anything he said would be gobbled up in slights and insults, eaten whole by the anger of Dwarf scouts who pillion home the dead to be burned to stone. That was not his course today, leaving that charge to different means.

He couldn’t bring back the dead, nor would he apologize to those who would have killed him. Mahal doesn’t need to punish the Khazad. He just grants Dwarves a long enough life to punish themselves for any offense. It was another stone about his neck, more weight in his sack of misery that he had thought he had sat down when he found his love. As long as Kili kept moving in the long years, his grief had streamed out behind him like a billowing cloak in a high wind. He had known the weight was there but it didn't touch him. Only when Kili stopped did the insidious fabric of it come floating around his face, catching his arms and throat till it murdered his breath with choking dexterity. So, he just didn't stop, darting through his life with no thought to save it. Kili had to stop reacting, stop the recklessness that robbed him of the ability to direct himself if he were ever to rule Ered Luin in Fili’s name.

They reached the Overlook, giving Kili his first sight of the Lonely Mountain in more than eight months. The scene would become a memory, almost wholly nonrealistic. Never in his life could he claim the sight he now beheld in the valley below. A small herd of Nenrai grazed at a distance, their wide rack of spiral horns massive and dangerous. Kili saw leather halters against the snowy white necks that arched over brown dappled backs. Having been spotted and measured, a few raised their heads in the company’s general direction. Their thick muscular legs were supported by wide black hooves, not so hard as a pony’s but tough enough to paw through snow hiding the greener shoots.

Legends and fireside tails, Kili could almost smell the wood smoke as the memory of Balin and Thorin telling their memories of the Vali and his family to the far north.

The Umli would be mounted on them, judging by the size of the herd. They had come as back up and a smart thing to do. The Umli stood taller than a Dwarf but shorter than a Man. Half Dwarves they were called, their ancestry tracing back to a single pair of twins that married both Man and Dwarf. Their low square bodies allowed for a more aggressive fighter with none of the drawbacks found in either race. Kili watched as one or two emerged from their huts to take in their surroundings. Allied to the Stiffbeards along with the Ice Elves by blood and friendship, they were an odd choice to bring with them in negotiations with another Dwarf who by all accounts hated half-blooded people and Elves of any clan.

Rekikoirat sled dogs, smaller than the ones on the trail, lay staked to ground beside hide covered yurts. Possibly females if they were a relation to normal canines and Wargs. The wooly animals, taking a cue from the Nenrai in the herd, leap to their feel, standing tall and alert. A piercing yodel filled the air as each sung a warning that passed along to others. Two of the Nenrai walked apart from the herd on their right with the Umli on their left. Their mounts, Kili assumed, thinking absently they, the Nenrai, had the same relationship of accord that Tauriel shared with her mares.

The two half Dwarves, covered in leather with a white pelt at their shoulders strode forward with a purpose, one holding a long pike and the other an impressive single head axe. Modest weapons, gauging from their stance and stride, the right choice for either of them based upon their fighting style. There was no nervous twitch or flashing turn of a sword in their hands, but a calm determination that left no doubt of their skill. Like the Stiffbeards, these people followed their own course with a like-minded simplicity.

He saw them as the higher races might. Rougher, less refined at the most, a more violent culture than others. They lived generally upon plunder they found, be it narwhal carcass or an enemy’s yurt. Theirs was a bare bones existence of taking what they needed at the point of a spear. While the rest of Arda might sneer at how unpolished in their manners in comparison to other clans, Stiffbeards and their relations of Half Dwarves as the Umli were considered, were among the most loyal.

There, shadowing it all was the Lonely Mountain. The tall solitary peak that took more lives than it had saved. Memory takes a lot of poetic license. It omits some details; others are exaggerated, according to the emotional value of the articles it touches, for memory is seated predominantly in the heart. Until six years ago, there was no record of this place in his thoughts or in his past. Stories told in the night before a glowing fireplace, songs sung for their homeland. But this wasn’t his homeland, he had no roots in this delving save the blood and sweat he had given and the blood and the life that had been taken.

Looking to the lonely peak, he had blamed it for all his misfortune. He owed no more to this Mountain, would give no more save in defense of his family. Fili would understand, Kili thought as he rode on, Fili had pressed him on the road to find his One. He remembered the tightening of his mother, the fierce and shadowed words at his leaving and wondered if she would be as understanding.

Warg was fair prancing now, desperately fighting Kili’s hold on the bit. He knew he was home, longing for his stall and familiar smells than the three quarters of a year they had been on their quest. The Stiffbeards yowled at their dogs, allowing them free rein to meet up with the Umli half way to the encampment. Kili didn’t pay attention to the talk at his back or the motioning to the groups at the far rise to the east. They were being watched by more Iron Dwarves as he was sure the tale spread of the loss of life upon the road from Dale. The bouncing jar of Warg’s stride tugged his attention back to the Mountain and the reunion that was long overdue.

The tonic didn’t dull his thinking too badly, though the jostling might be keeping the injury fresh. The door wardens had increased in number, where before he left there were four, eight now lined the Great Gates. Movement on the mezzanine overhead drew the eye and puzzled him just the same. Some were taller, mayhaps they were Men? Bard had not mentioned that he had left representatives here to speak for him and it would seem unlikely that it would be allowed if the Stiffbeards lived before the Gates.

They stopped at the base of the causeway rather than riding the length to the top. Many faces he remember spilled from the doors, including Dwalin and Nori shouldering their way to the fore. Kili dismounted along with the others, lifting a hand to Thorin’s company. A great bark of laughter sounded from the tattooed male who nudged a Dwarf back inside, no doubt to tell Fili and his Amad of the arrival. Gandalf took stock of the encampment with the usual penetrating gaze that unnerved the lesser minded. Too busy to see who had his pony, many of his old fellows pushed forward to crush him in a hug or slap him on the back for a greeting.

The cawing of the ravens brought his attention skyward to see flocks of the ravens circling the vale in widening loops. Waving a hand to Roac, a cry from the mountain proper drew Kili’s eyes to the balcony over the great gates. It took him back to see so many Dwarrowdams lining up at the mezzanine in short order, not just ‘dams but there were Daughters of Men in the line that faced him. Sigrid was in the middle with the others in flanked positions about her, bearing identical expressions of wonder and suspicion.

One or two wore battle gear and judged him closely as Kili walked to the gates. There were braids in their hair, too many for them to be unattached. The silver clasps at the ends signified marriage, there was no way for him to distinguish theirs mates. The tall woman at Sigrid’s right, he knew to be a healer in Dale, sported marriage plaits in particular construction that looked similar to his own at the distance. Worry that something might have happened to his near sister was belied at her happy smile and rounded belly that pushed her away from the stone casing. Fili had been busy while he had been away and not filling up a room full of Dwarrowdams for his own libertine purposes.

The armored one gave him pause, russet haired with martial braids at her chin, she looked right capable of splitting his skull. Gods, he almost wished the world was full of passive women. A place where a male might lie his head and not wonder if it would be cleaved for not washing his boots as his Amad was wont to threaten. Kili thought for a moment longer, then scowled. It was the reason, the Dwarves were so vital in the first place. The men in his family were strong because the women of Durin’s Line kill and eat the weak ones. If there were any scraps, they were passed out to friends as a warning.

Kili took a step but felt fragmented from the ride and the Elvish medicine. Erethon walked to his side but didn’t touch him. He placed himself between the mot boisterous of greeters and the wound to prevent it getting worse. He could feel Elrohir at his back, though neither interjected themselves. They acquiesced to his prideful need to mount the steps on his own. Pushing away the helm, he took a deep breath to begin.

Loud raspings of disjointed talk flew between the ladies above when they marked his braids. They pointed at his and at each other’s as if in confirmation of what they saw upon his head. Several of the Dwarves melted back at the sight of them, looking back to the company for his mate. A snicker bubbled inside as one or another of the spectators looked closely at Bain’s head for beadwork as if he might have lain with the Prince of Dale then submitted to a claim by him. All had seen him leave with the son of the Dragonslayer and had no real idea as to why at the time. What stories had been invented in his absence, he couldn’t say.

Dwalin and Nori hustled themselves down the steps, each in a manner that was so alike to their own thoughts and personality. Where Dwalin strong armed a few and muscled others out of the way, Nori slithered in a floating glide of a boneless dexterity. His bending walk reminded Kili of felines who slipped here and there with cunning deception. Nori had always been a friend to him, but the thief was crafty if the situation required it.

“So the King’s Justice has found his way home at last.” Dwalin called as he drew level. “And I see you have brought friends?”

The captain of Erebor’s guard looked over the two Elves and the Men who step forward, unsling their packs. His eyes widened at the sight of Dorlad and Bain as well as Gandalf at their approach. The packs were dropped at Dwalin’s right side with a nod to him, the Men of Dale knew him at a glance. The fearsome tattoos on his bald pate left no doubt to his identity. There was however, new additions to the ring of thick bush that burst from the bottom of his Dwarven ink. Braids vined themselves into the dark bramble to dangle at the big Dwarrow’s ears.

“I see the the Captain of Erebor’s guard appealed to someone.” Kili smiled at the Dwarf then held out his hand.

Dusk settled over the Captain’s face, ducking his head away. Nori hissed at Dwarrow in turn but shoved a hand at Kili’s back in welcome. “Mind him not. He will be well claimed and married by the end of summer. Come! Your brother will want the story of your own braids as will the rest of the Mountain. Yet, I see no red hair in the bunch that rode with you.”

Not much had ever escaped the sneak thief nor could Kili have realistically expected him not to know of Tauriel. “That is a story for another place.”

“Master Dwalin, Kili sustained an injury on the road at the hands of the Iron Dwarves. He needs to be attended.” Gandalf broke in, taking a position on his left side.

They took another step only to run square into the Khazad blockade that was the son of Fundin. The crowds began to disperse now that the company had an explanation. The packs that the Men of Dale had brought were lunged over strong backs and carried into the mountain. Kili felt his lips thin in irritation at the Captain of the Guard who continued to stare the Elves behind him.

Dwalin crossed his massive arms, the strain of muscles roped clearly against the skin. “Who are these Elves, Gandalf?”

The captain looked over Kili’s protectors with a grimace. Dwalin had no more love of Elves than Thorin had but today was not the day for enmity and past injustices that had nothing to do with these two. Having enough, he motioned for them to go around as he himself did, ignoring the tattooed Dwarf’s growl of annoyance and Nori’s chuckle.

“They are with me, Dwalin. I daresay my brother will close the gates to Elves sent by the Lady of Light.” He took one stumbling step then another, reaching for the reserves deep inside to get him up the stair.

“Why not let _your brother_ make that decision.”

The voice was booming, a sound that carried in high rooms and wide halls. It rolled over the vale behind him in a wave of echoes, too close to their Amad when she was on a tear. A whisper had never worked for this Dwarf, not when they were children sharing a room nor trying to sneak about in guardian duties. Looking up at the top, far away it seemed suddenly, Fili walked to the edge with his robes swirling at his boots. The doubled headed axe of their father, clanked down on the stone pavers as Fili leaned to look down at him.

The eight months of their separation were gone in a blink, each hurrying to the other. The heartbreak was behind him, his brother was well! Fili’s arms banded him in a tight embrace, memories of such hugs came back in a flash. The pain of his injury was forgotten, no thoughts of it interrupted this homecoming. The division of their bond for work or travel was always mended, now if felt more right than it had in previous times. Breathing deep the scent of pipeweed and ale with the rock dust smell associated with all Dwarves, Kili grinned wider than he remembered in his life.

Fili took his face, tipping his forehead to Kili. They stood together, neither speaking only breathing in the other. For a moment he thought he felt wetness on his nose. Tears? Could things have been so badly wrought that Fili had thought him gone and never to return? Placing his hands on his brother’s shoulders, Kili pulled away to search his brother’s face. More careworn than the Thane might have been, definitely neater braids.

Fili’s hand slid down Kili’s head from top to chin to clasp the braids at his ear. “There’s the smile I have missed. My brother has truly returned!”

 

**88**88**

 

 

Could a male’s heart, his soul, perish and yet leave him walking and talking as if alive?

Galadriel pondered the question privately as she waited for Celeborn to unwind himself from the pomp and parade that was the Elven King of Mirkwood. As if her thoughts touched him physically, her mate looked to her, feeling her regard. The nod was for the Elven King, to let him know that time was fleeting, too long had Galadriel and Celeborn been together for either to play at words or moods. Thranduil and his guard would retire to their quarters to start fresh at dawn back to his cavern palace. He would also leave without his former Silvan captain.

Arwen, her child’s daughter, traced a path at the outer rim of the gathering. She was apart and yet distant. There was little love for Thranduil in her thinking, even less now that she had the pleasure of Tauriel’s company. The former captain didn’t discuss her feelings about Thranduil, not to anyone. Like mockingbirds, the words the Elven King and his subject had exchanged flew through their borders with avian speed. The healer had been most alarmed at Tauriel’s state when she had returned from the wood, placing her firmly in the care of the infirmary. Galadriel had quietly approved, even now seeing the Elven King continue in what vein that pleased him with her husband tightened her normally calm attitude. The icy monarch was unhappy at being denied Tauriel’s return and Galadriel would not be moved to care.

Arwen took a place at the Lady’s side, watching the assembled with a blank stare. She had long practice at her Emilnaneth’s side for being in situations that required delicacy instead of a sword. Yet, neither liked it. She looked to Arwen now, the blankness giving way to her mind after having watched and studied Celebrain’s child from her birth. There was little that the Undomiel could hide from her, and she knew better to try.

Galadriel sent her thoughts to Arwen, a simple spear of power from an Elf capable of so much more. _Is Tauriel settled?_

 _She is._ Arwen returned. _I confess, the healer may have been overzealous. As angry as Tauriel was, her wroth affected her body little_.

 _We have accepted responsibility for her, every precaution must be attended_. Galadriel advised along the same thought thread. _There was nothing that will make a Dwarf more desperate and more capable of violence than endangering his family. Nothing, save Aule, might stop a child of stone from seeking revenge._

Speaking to minds in a room full of Elves was quite the only way to have a private conversation. The musicians in the corner, plucking on strings and blowing their flutes were not enough distraction. They were background only, to enhance the ambiance of the gathering. Plying the guests with food and wine would serve just as well to relax their guard if they were less wise. Arwen knew this as she turned to her mother’s mother.

 _I wonder that you endangered Lothlorian by placing yourself in this situation. Prudence might have dictated to watch and wait._ Arwen’s lips quirked at the observation.

 _That is true, Dwarves and Elves can be a combustive mixture. The first step to a reconciliation between our races might begin here and now with a pregnant Silvan._ Galadriel flicked her eyes to Thranduil.

Two males were the pinnacle of their race, both of them strong and battle tried. They walked together in the Years of Wrath, the bloodshed bound them in common ties of experience. It was where the similarities ended. The feelings Galadriel received from the pair were the same as one gets when they realize that something they have lost is lost forever. There is no going back, only forward because that life is over. Belegost was past and Dwarves had made a home in the ruins. Galadriel looked to the future for a better world than what they had left, while others mourn the loss to closely to enjoy the present.

Celeborn healed of his time in war where Thranduil wore glamour like a cloak to disguise his disfigurement caused by dragon fire. At this distance in the room, she could see the magics coruscate in a never ending storm about his tall figure as Nenya flashed them for her. Galadriel drank from her goblet to cover the huff of frustration at son of Oropher’s inflated pride. Why some men choose to fill their brief allotment of time engaging the impossible, others in the manufacture of sorrow.

Celeborn had not the joy of life, not as he once did. Arwen and her brothers were a tether, could never be a true healing. Celebrain was ever between them still and it made her wonder if she should not urge him to take a ship to Valinor for she suspected he dreamed of the ocean. But for her, there was no escape. The Ring of Adamant was not ready to leave, the power was needed in Arda for the coming Darkness. Unfortunately, there was no one strong enough to take the great Ring and responsibility of it from her. Elves were sailing, feeling the growing evil blooming from the earth in a poisonous spring. Nights like these, the Lady of Light felt her failure at Dol Guldor, failed to destroy the evil completely. It was but delayed until the ring came forth, the _One Ring_ to rule them all. If the ring was destroyed, Sauron would be voided into nothingness.

If she urged Celeborn to take a ship, Galadriel knew she would lose her balance, the part that kept her sane in the swirling power. The seductive pressure to give herself over, to let go and unleash was her daily torment. The raging flood would devastate all the Elves had built over so many lives of Men, because she failed once more. The Ellon at her side, her lover and lifelong mate was the rock, the safehaven in the maelstrom that was Nenya. His unhappiness and love for her offered no perfect definition or solution.

The lord of Lothlorien was at her side before her musings let go, taking her hand to lead them to their quarters. Arwen, ever knowing, bowed to them to find her own rest perhaps keeping Tauriel company as the stars split the black proud night. The stairs were navigated at a thought, climbing their endlessness towards the canopy. Below at the forest floor, lights glowed with in tandem with the light hymn of evening life. Galadhrim went about their daily routine without fear for their security. Her people, her responsibility. She would lay down her life for them, Celeborn would never be far from her side to do the same.

“Thranduil was quite insistent for her return, my dear.” Celeborn poured himself a goblet of wine once they reached their rooms. “I am inclined to agree with him. We should never have gotten involved.”

Galadriel listened then chose her next words carefully, not for the pain that they would bring but the joy of memory. There is some pain that nothing heals. “The Silvan has lost one child due to treachery. I would not see her lose another due to neglect. We both know that Thranduil will not have care for the child if it lives through the birth in Mirkwood, doing just enough and no more. Elrond has the better chance to help them survive. _The Elven King_ would use her in an attempt to bring his son back to the Greenwood.” Galadriel heard his grip on the crystal tighten. “We know the same loss as she, a child gone from us until we dream of the sea and go home to Valinor. How could we _not_ protect Tauriel and the child she will bear?”

It mattered little that when new hopes fail, old ones return in the endless cycle of desperation. Galadriel stared at Celeborn, wishing he would see this opportunity for a united future and peace. The evanescence of life was never more prevalent than in the laugh of a child or its happy gurgle. That two races found common ground to create life where they might have been too different was a gift of the Valar in her eyes.

“You think she will make the right choice at the proper moment, years before it is needed? Elrond has been wrong before, he could be so again.” The words ached with loss, unbearable pain. Celeborn still held anger that the Peredhel had not seen Celebrian’s abduction.

“I see life in the Mirror, my husband. I see children of Elven blood, Dwarf and Man shaping this world. Each offering something of their own to create something better. So no, I cannot consent to her leaving, but offer every ounce of protection I can.”

Mayhap, Tauriel should know a little of what was to come, Galadriel thought. Of what might be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is Fili's pov.. with some Dis thrown in for spice.. She ain't happy.. there is a catch up on what is happening in the last 5 months.
> 
> I wrote Galadriel as not being impressed with Thranduil... I mean come on.. The Elven King? and he wears no ring of power???? so that might have come out a little from Galadriel too lol....
> 
> Celeborn is rather mournful, so I wrote him as missing his daughter..


	61. Chapter 61

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Australian version of Wild Colonial Boy
> 
> Come along my hearties,  
> We'll roam the mountains high,  
> Together we will plunder,  
> Together we will ride.  
> We'll scar over valleys,  
> And gallop for the plains,  
> And scorn to live in slavery, bound down by iron chains.  
> It's of a wild Colonial Boy,  
> Jack Doolan was his name,  
> Of poor but honest parents,  
> He was born in Castlemaine.  
> He was his father's only son,  
> His mother's pride and joy,  
> And so dearly did his parents love  
> The wild Colonial Boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For mssilverstar and her love for the Fili !
> 
> Fili's pov..

 

Fili had never been overly fond of the healing halls. It was stocked full of alcohol he couldn’t drink, gruel he didn’t want to feed to his pony, and memories he wanted to forget. Plus, there were all sorts of instruments that should be in kitchens, not near open wounds in his amateur opinion. The helplessness he had felt whenever he had been a resident never went away. Or worse, the days when someone he loved was there. Kili, Sigrid, and a host of others who had come to mean as much as his kin. Healing halls meant sick and dying, crying and worry: reminders all to their mortality.

Threk, son of Tindri, and an assistant attended the other patients allowing Oin to concentrate on Kili. Four other cots lay filled with a wine sick Dwarf, two cave-in casualties from the lower deeps and their first gored victim of the Nenrai. The wine sick Dwarf and a friend had challenged the poor Dwarrow to touch one. What they had not known or if they did, had not imparted to their friend, the Nenrai despise most others save their riders. When the adventurous male advanced to the beast from the side like one might a pony, a fellow Nenrais barked at him. It was enough of a distraction for the one he had approached to swing around to spear the Dwarrow in the hip.

Gandalf rolled his eyes when told of the antics of the young Dwarrow. He marched off in a search for Balin and Dwalin but had expressed the need for wanting to see Fili and his council later. Apparently, there was a concern amongst the other races that this conflict might evolve into another great battle as it had years ago. That Fili had not called upon external allies save the Stiffbeards relaxed some, though the continued movements of Spiders and Orcs worried others. The great battle had eliminated many of the Dwarves’ foes, creating a power vacuum. The defeat of Azog revealed that something worse lurked in the twilight where dread ate the morrow of the brave.

Oin looked over the wound under Kili’s arm, then to the Elves and Man standing nearby. Bain had left for a reunion with his sister and nephews, promising to return to the Men of Dale who down in Nori’s Tavern. The trio lounged in the door like any casual observer might, nosy, yet aloof with a clinical detachment. They held on to their swords, after the introductions and his brother’s insistence. They also refused to leave Kili, barely would let him from their sight. Dwalin and Oin had made some grumbling protests for different reasons that didn’t faze any of the males. Under most circumstances he would toss them from the upper balcony for their obstinacy but since they held his brother’s safety so dear, Fili let it pass.

The salve they used on Kili was to promote healing according to Lord Elrond’s son, Elrohir. Oin insisted on cleaning the wound nevertheless, abrading it with a watered solution. Once he was finished and determined it of no real danger, the old Healer took a moment to discuss the salve and how it might affect a Dwarf. There was a back and forth for a while between the three males, Fili waiting patiently as Kili rolled his eyes at them.

“So there is a wife?” Fili looked to his brother as he stretched his arm over his head and revealed the ugly sliced flesh. “I suppose that means you found her?”

Two hours had passed since they brought his archer brother home and some signs of change were noticeable and others hiding in place sight. He was different, Kili’s heart shown in his eyes at the mention of the she Elf. Tension swung in his frame in what looked like happiness and anxiety. Fili knew his brother or had said he had known Kili until Tauriel’s flight had destroyed him. What had come back to the Mountain this morning was not the same son of Durin’s Folk he knew or the one he had been faced with for the last six years. This Kili measured each thing, watching with careful deliberation. He laughed at jokes that bounced in the room with an ease that was sorely lacking.

“I did. She stood a post in Rohan, Helm’s Deep.” Kili’s face softened further at the mention of the Elf, his brother shifting on the cot. “The beginning was difficult but my charm saw it through.”

A huff of laughter came from the doorway as the Man, Dorlad as Kili introduced him to be, barely kept it together. “Your brother has quite the temper.”

More explanations were coming, Fili was sure but from what he gathered so far, Bain and Kili had meet this Ranger in Rivendell or just outside of it? Their unfeeling brethren outside the Great Gates were closer kin than the Men and Elves in the room, however Fili had no doubt that they would each stand a line together _for_ each other. Dorlad, Bain and Kili the most unlikely band of brothers, yet for truth that was what they had become.

“Shut it there!” Kili snarled without heat while the Man raised his hands in surrender.

The dark haired Dwarf settled himself back into the cot with more undue wiggling. A smile traced his lips as his met Fili’s expression and the breath he had locked away in his barrel chest released like a torrent. Kili was home, truly the body and spirit were together with his old humor leaking though the facade.

Meaning to tease him, Fili began. “So you..”

“My baby! My littlest rubble has come home at last!”

Dis rushed into the room with all the force of an Orc battle. Fili stepped away to avoid the collision with his mother almost throwing herself on the bed, wrapping Kili into a smothering hug. He would have laughed if his brother had not an odd expression of disappointment on his face. His uncomfortable nature expanded as Dis rained kisses on his face, pushing aside the marriage braids as if she didn’t see them.

“Oh my boy!” Looking at his face, Dis finally understood the significance of his braids. “What’s this now? You have been claimed?”

The conversations peppered off at the Princess’ tone, with Oin motioning Threk and the other assistants from the room. When he started to leave himself, Fili minutely shook his head. As King, he had the power to push the Mother from the room, he preferred not to be so heavy handed. Things between them were better but her thoughts and ideals often caused stress and dissention. Oin was a better choice if she began to wear him out.

Kili gently pushed her back so that he could lean up from the bed. Fili stepped in to help but Kili waived him off. “I found my One, Amad.” Looking to Fili with a sheepish smile, the same one he bore when he felt embarrassed. “Love was there still, waiting for me. You will always have my gratitude for pushing me to go to her.”

They clasped hands once more as Fili knelt to his brother’s side. They touched foreheads once more, time would come for a harder hit. He rejoiced in Kili’s homecoming and hoped that Tauriel would enjoy her life here. Dis looked to the others in the room with some disgruntlement but plastered a smile on her face to look down at her son.

“The journey must have been long indeed for you have been gone almost a year!” She reached out to him, smoothing down the sheet at his waist. “But why have you not brought her home?”

Fili professed to himself that was a question he had been nigh dying to ask. His mother getting there first bothered him little as the information would be coming forthwith. Most likely with Dain and the sounders on his doorstep, Kili had wanted to assess the situation before being his wife home to a warzone. The Dwarrow in the King approved if that was the reason, no matter if the wife had been a warrior hundreds of years before her husband’s birth. A wife was the heart of the Dwarf, every care must be taken. Fili heard shuffling in the background as the Elves kept stance at the entrance to block some onlookers as they walked by the door. This wasn’t a conversation to have before others, not with the enemies at the gates.

There it was again, Fili thought as he watched his brother, the grimace Kili struggled to hide. Dis had seen it too, raising her chin at her son’s disquiet. “There is a war going on, is there not? I would not have her here.”

The blond Dwarrow smiled to himself that he had the right of it. Rumor might suggest mayhem of all sorts, but a Dwarf would never risk his One for any cost. It was another sign to Fili that his brother had truly mated and settled in his life. Kili was growing into a fine Dwarrow with a good head on his shoulders.

“Was she not a fighter in Thranduil’s guard?” Dis looked to Fili in question. “Elven lives are much longer than ours, I am sure her blade would be most useful.”

“No Amad.” The words were final, making Fili raise his eyebrows in question at Kili’s tone. His brother was putting his foot down, most assuredly. “Now talk to me of this nonsense with Dain? Sigrid looks to be most heavily pregnant for you to be chasing Dwarrowdams about the Mountain. I doubt you have abstained from your husband’s rights despite her gestation.”

The subject turn wasn’t subtle, Kili’s strength had not always been of an adroit nature. Dwarves as a whole were not a vague race, they dug into stone or worked nature’s bounty with zeal. Blunt and to the point, although, those were closer descriptions of their Stiffbeard intermediaries.

Chuckling, Fili gave him an evil smile. “Dain tasks me but I will have him yet. He wants things he has no right too. But for my Queen, we found her bearing not long after you left us. The healer Willa has been staying with us from Dale to keep Sigrid in good health. ”

Just last week, Willa had come to him with the suspicion that was both wondrous and scared him witless. Sigrid had grown larger than normal, for truth, she had been far larger than in her previous bearings. The swelling of her ankles was more pronounced as well. So too was her exhaustion. There had not been twins born in too many years and the idea of that blessing was both fantastical and frightening. Dwarrowdams never bore children again after a twin birth, many lost their lives or the babes themselves. Sigrid was a daughter of Man and might have little difficulty though it was still Dwarf babes she carried.

Sigrid was beside herself with joy at the news, so much so that she took short walks to chat with any that she came across. Today, she had the luck to be on the mezzanine when Kili rode home to see him before Fili had. Willa had been with her, escorting her to bed as the excitement had made her dizzy.

“If I am asking something untoward, advise me but why are the Stiffbeards?” The question pulled him from his musings of his lovely Queen, looking down at his brother again. The concern on his face was tangible. “Why need attributors at all?”

“They are responsible for keeping us from outright war. Dain has been most irate with them as they are kin to us both. They have far exceeded any of our expectations.” Fili smiled. “They are also our unofficial witnesses. What the Ironfoot is doing is nothing short of sedition. Our world needs to understand that there is a price to be paid if your actions are false.”

Fili launched into a condensed version of the events that Kili had missed so far. The Dwarrowdam’s arrival at the mountain. Herja and her pack of wolves trying to disrupt his marriage and stir the Dwarrows against King and Queen. Of how lovely Eir and Thrud found their courage to break from the female’s stranglehold and Herja’s disastrous play for power with the Stoor hobbits. The banishment had shocked Kili by his look to their mother, standing just behind the King. The look of rage was unfortunately familiar when Fili explained about Olrun’s situation and her family’s residence in the Mountain. That the anger was directed to an evil source rather than his blanket wrath or cold indifference was a comfort.

“Much has changed since last you were here. Oin has taken a wife, the Healer Wheat from Dale. Ozi who is now a guard in Sigrid’s retinue has been claimed by a Dale woman named, Silinde. Dwalin even sports betrothal beads.” Fili finished to a degree, allowing Kili to call Oin over.

It was more of shouting match for the next few moments as the aged healer waddled over, his beads and braids swinging away at his cheeks when he released the bands that pulled his thick white hair from his face. Kili sat for a moment, just staring, taking it all in. The grin was genuine and completely for Oin as the younger Dwarrow offered his hand and hearty congratulations. For his part, the former member of Thorin’s company blushed when Fili nudged him about his courting.

“So you see, my brother. More than one have been claimed by a female from another race, not just you.” Fili quipped at him.

The hearty laughter of so many eased the breeding tension or so Fili had thought. He pulled up a chair to sit at Kili’s bedside rather than take a seat on the bed. His thoughts began to wonder on where the Elves might be quartered if Kili was going to be keeping them. Lord Elrond’s son would not be a fixture, of course. He would have to leave and soon for his father’s homily house but the Galadhrim, was another matter. Dis’ voice cut through the conversation like a hot knife through butter.

“I cannot say I am pleased at this.” Dis huffed at her youngest with a shake of her head. “I doubt my brother would have approved of your match.”

Kili seized in the bed, tense and wary. The mention of Thorin had always did this to him, to Fili as well though he never showed it. Their last words with their Uncle were of hate, anger and pain with no reconciliation possible at his death. The memories of that day surfaced and took over, bringing with them a sharp, intense dread. His brother’s face flushed down to his exposed chest from the criticism at the hands of his own mother, as if his love was to be ashamed.

“But you did at the onset.” Fili shot at her, his patience limited. He rose from the chair in an unconscious battle stance. “We discussed scenario at length before he left and you knew my mind on this. Now he has returned, claimed and happy by his One.” Fili stared her as others shrunk away. “I stand behind his marriage.”

Dis’ expression turned thunderous then the clouds dissipated to a neutral cast. Disappointment dripped from every word. “He didn’t get married by _our_ customs. Many will not see it as a true joining.”

His anger cradled this thoughts, swaddling his good sense to prevent its escape. Fili jerked away from Kili’s bedside in a faceoff with his Amad. Her hands on her hips, Dis glowered back with the same stubborn mien. Her language bespoke her thoughts louder than the trumpets of Dale. She loved Kili, rejoiced as Fili had at his return but she was unhappy that he was married to his Elf. Months ago she had said all the right things when they had talked of Kili, he thought she had understood. The frustration of so many trials ripped apart his patience when her and the fragile peace they had found in last months shattered like glass on stone.

Kili’s voice tore into their stalemate. “We stood before the Marshall of the Mark, a Man who had cared for Tauriel and wanted her happiness. I pledged my love for her and received the same. Whether Dwarves recognize it or not, Tauriel is my wife!”

Oin came to stand at the top of Kili’s bed, placing a hand of restraint upon his shoulder. His brother twisted to look at the healer for condemnation, but found none. The old Dwarf was the last one of their company who would testify that Tauriel was wrong for him. Oin had seen her heal his brother, seen the cost she bore for it. A willing cost. Kili’s attention snapped back to their mother when she started again.

“I only wish you to understand, Kili. Somethings have a proper place..” Dis began in a quieter tone.

It was the same tone she used when they were children at lessons. The speech of a mother trying to make a babe understand the way of things. It angered Fili more than he could say, more than what the words actually were. There were other places they might continue this for the patients didn’t need to see him tearing his own Amad apart for her erroneous beliefs.

“Somethings have a proper place but antagonizing my patient in my halls, Princess, is not allowed.” Oin crossed his arms. “Not even for you. Let the lad rest and later you can attack him for falling in love.”

“I agree. We need to speak of this further, Amad.” Fili’s inflection was calm though he thought for a moment his head would explode from the pressure of holding back his thoughts. “In private.”

Their mother pursed her lips in agitation, stalking from the all with a train of sky blue skirts in her wake. Fili had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from grinning at Kili’s snicker. It was an offbeat reminder of their childhood, times when they just managed to crawl out of a fussing. Oin’s bushy eyebrows rose up his forehead for his own daring but Fili would not more call him on it than any other. His mother was wrong to argue her son’s joining, for not being happy that he loved. Seeing that fact in the faces of the others made it no less true. Willa would hear of this later, then privately try to talk to his Amad in her own way. The healer had become quite the peacemaker. But the King under the Mountain wasn’t fooled, he would be seeing her before any of others. No doubt, she was waiting just beyond the hall.

“Take your rest, my brother. Later, I will bring Sigrid and the boys to you.” The grin that stretched his dark beard caused Fili’s heart to stammer with happiness.

Kili took Fili’s hand again then turned to Oin and demanded answers on who this wife was. Taking the nonverbal assent, he walked from the healing halls to the Elves and Man in the door. The trio were quite rag tag, used to living lean if their clothes told the tale correctly. But for their help and protection of his beloved brother, Fili would give them any reward.

“Sirs, you have my gratitude for my brother. Erebor extends you every courtesy for as long as you wish to reside in our halls.” They bowed to him, still taller than his own size.

“King Fili, I would like to talk with Gandalf the Grey. However, there are urgent needs to your Kingdom. If it please you, we would stay here with Kili until there is an opportunity.” The tall son of Elrond spoke in melodious tones. A ranger too and most likely a companion of the Man standing behind them.

“Forgive me, of course. He will be transferred to his rooms for rest afterwards and I will send for refreshments. There are rooms aplenty on the upper halls if you would care to take your rest.” Fili eased beyond them only to be stopped by his brother.

“Give them a ward room across the way. We can camp there tonight.” The snickering started again from his brother but Fili refused the bait.

“If you wish, brother.” With that the King under the Mountain rolled his eyes and shrugged. The Man chuckled and scooted into the room. “I will send Bain down later and the lot of you can roust the tavern to your heart’s content!”

The idea of them all at Nori’s tavern with pints in their fist and the air thick with good cheer lightened his thoughts from his maternal woes. If time permitted and others were in agreement, he could round up the Company for a night of merriment that had been sorely lacking. Taking to the hall for the Promenade walk to the council chamber, a flash of light blue caught his attention.

“Fili!” Dis fell into step with him, almost pushing him down in her agitation. “What have you talked me into?! This Elf staying with other Elves rather than being at her husband’s side? This vile romance will be his downfall, you mark my words!”

“He has smiled more in the last hours than he has in six years. I care not if it is a Warg in Bofur’s hat that pleases him.” Fili began to leave to find the Wizard, turning his back to his mother. “What did you think would happen on this quest? He left to find his One, Amad. He found her, now he is married.”

He was married, yes, well and truly married but his Elf wasn’t at his side as his mother pointed out. There was no conflict that Fili could tell in Kili when he talked of Tauriel albeit briefly. He held her name close to himself, cherishing it as if it were her body. So her stay with the Lady of Light was not a sundering. The misty Golden Weeks had not left the King’s Justice, softening him from hard stone to supple leather. It was thrilling to see and Fili was glad for it. So very glad. He could reach out and touch the Dwarf to find him whole, warm and alive. No longer the bitter stone that ghosted Erebor’s halls, Kili was in love and loved in return. That made all the difference to Fili.    

“I honestly thought he would find her married to another of her race! Or that she didn’t want him after all that transpired. I expected her to move on from their illicit amour.” His mother followed at his elbow, irritating him further. “He would come home resolved that it wasn’t love at all, but a feeling cultured from severe conditions. Deprivation…the caustic run for your very lives! None of you were thinking clearly by the time you made it to Erebor!”

“Then you know nothing of Elves! Or your own kin, I fancy. Elves love only once, as we do!”

They neared the promenade, his stride never faltering. He needed as much of the family to show united in all endeavors right now or they could very well be looking at Civil War. A house divided shall never stand, he thought. Durins fighting Durins. The idea made him his heart burst with pain with his mother’s continued naysaying moving to the background of his mind.

The greed of his race wasn’t his burden and Dain’s ideology was not as unpopular as Fili might wish. Many of the older generation favored cutting as many ties with the outside world as possible. They had lived through Thror and in other delvings since the fall, enjoying the prospect of exclusionist thinking. The people of Dale would never survive with a selfish Thane sitting in Erebor, a bad harvest or failing trade would sour everything in a flash. They would have bloody war with Elves at their backs pushing Men into the vanguard. The endless worry looped back at him as Fili spotted Ori hurrying below past Vigdis, a bunch of scrolls in his arms. His robes swirled about his body as he disappeared around the corner for the council room. Everyone ran to somewhere now; they lost their leisure once Dain and his sounders arrived in the Vale.

Fili looked to his mother and tried to hold back a sneer. “Was there yet another reason for Olrun and her Dwarrowdams to come to Erebor, Amad? Was that another gambit of yours? You thought that if Kili came home wiser and heartbroken he might look favorably upon Vigdis and Skuld would have Fian?” When Dis said nothing, looking down at the floor, Fili almost let go of his rage. He took several deep breaths to find his center once more. “Why? Why would your son loving an Elf be so wrong?”

“One of Thranduil’s Elves?” She scoffed and walked away, leaving him along in the long hall and unsure of his footing.

Watching his mother walk away, Fili summoned up the strength to find the council chambers though his mind swam in pity for his mother. She still hated the Elves, still blamed them for turning aside. For all her talk and charity to the other races, Dis cared very little for them. The hardships of Ered Luin had not changed her cradle teachings at the hands of Thrain. A King was only as strong as the support he received from his family, but that family wasn’t the same as he had thought it to be. Wandering beyond the Gallery of Kings and their iron legacy, Fili steeled himself for a further fight but he was done being lead about by others or moved like a game piece. He was the Thane and his people deserved more than a malleable leader.

Gandalf found him as Fili took a seat at the long table, pensive and thoughtful. Balin poured them all a tankard as the Gray Pilgrim paced behind Fili’s chair. He wasn’t a person of any race that Fili could ascertain, none of the Istari were. As a wizard, he was a strange creature from another plane entirely. The magics he held, the staff of Radagast, the unknowable was housed in that robe and caught like so many flies in his wispy beard. The council didn’t like him, never trusted him. They couldn’t understand the kindly eyes and easy smile that hid in his bushy beard. Still tall with the same hat that covered most of his face, the Wizard had helped him from more jams then he had thrown them into.

The croakers filed into the chambers only to wiggle into a stop at the sight of the tall wizard. Murmurings waivered in the still room with anuran rapidity. Not in the mood for a debate from them, Fili gestured impatiently for them all to take a seat. Balin who had been shown Gandalf inside, distributed the ale before taking a seat at the long table from his King. The assembled bloated themselves like bullfrogs on a lily pad, discomfited by an outsider in their chambers with enemies of war at their gates.

Dwalin paced the stones before the fireplace, casting a specter upon the table. Balin sighed long at him but nodded to Fili to begin.

“As you know, Kili has returned.”

Several of the council members gave a cheer and began pounded in the wood table with a closed fist. The lady Eir took a seat at the far wall with Ori, pen in hand to write up the proceedings. She smiled at their enthusiasm when Ori let go of a particularly loud whistle.

“He didn’t come alone as many of you know. An Elf of Rivendell and another of Lothlorien as well as mine own near brother, Prince Bain and a Ranger of the North by name of Dorlad.” Fili continued as the laughter spiked once more.

Hannar raised his ale in salute. “Not only has the Prince returned, he has picked up a number of strays!”

The laughter grew louder and louder with adjoining comments adding to a host of others, some more ribald than the next. Despite his unsavory feelings cultivated to fruition by his own Amad, a smile cracked his lips as the jests rounded the table in a continuing oral spiral. They thumped the wood until splinters chipped from the surface, bouncing along with the tankards.

Gandalf had enough of the frivolous nature, striding forward to take the fore. Every mouth closed as he closed upon them, drawing every eye in the room. “There is a concern that I bring before your council, King under the Mountain. A concern that the enemy of the East is stirring once more at your border.”

Galar took to his feet immediately. “What proof do you have? He has gone, driven back by the Lady of Light and the last Alliance. His body is broken, his armies destroyed. What strength he can muster is easily vanquished!”

“Mordor's reach is long, wielding an edged weapon at the free peoples of Middle Earth. The Lonely Mountain is an excellent tipping point to many directions.” Gandalf’s voice rang in the chamber, filling it to capacity. “Now, yes, he is weak. But what of years in the future? A decade? Thrice that number? A generation of Men would have died and those of the long lived races might have as well or too aged to remember or wield a sword. Time is our enemy, tolerating complacency. . No, the evil one isn’t gone, he waits for the time to strike when our guard is lowest to cause the most damage. Or when Civil War brings down a mighty people.”

Balin shifted in his chair, staring down the length of the table. “You think that Sauron or some great evil is behind Dain?”

Gandalf began to walk a rut in the floor, at a perpendicular speed to Dwalin by the hearth. He muttered to himself again, his staff clinking against stone with each pass. None spoke from the table as they watched, hoping that the wizard had more to say on the subject.

“No, not after to speaking with you earlier.” Gandalf said at last, pausing to look at Balin. “I think Sauron could use this turmoil to his purpose unless the situation is resolved quickly. Smaug sat upon this hoard for many years. Had he left at the opportune time in a war, many lives would have been lost. More than was in Lake Town.”

_Smaug the Terrible._

The strangled feeling of terror gripped Fili, deflating his lungs to useless bellows. A tightness unknown squeezed his chest, cutting off his air as his fingers dug into the arm rests. The name tasted of fire and wings, of curling smoke, of subtlety and strength with the rough whisper of scales. Some mornings he awoke with the taste of hot ash in the back of his mouth. The rays of entrancing light couldn’t cut the gloom of his darkness, the hold these feelings had on him. Danger lay in the name and it might conjure the stuff of nightmares. Only Sigrid, his One, broke that cycle of fear that rode him. Reaching out to the edge of the table, Fili thought desperately of soft blond hair and delectable warm skin.

Desperation summons the last reserves an individual possesses in an effort to extricate them from danger. It pushes the limits an individual normally cannot reach. Six long years since those horrible days and he couldn’t outrun his retentions. The pain, the rooted fear, all of it boiling down to wanting to get out alive, for Kili to live beyond his wounds and maybe just maybe, see Sigrid smile again.

Shaking away the tortile emotions to focus on the Wizard, Fili asked. “Do you think we wished this conflict? We live our lives upon the foundation built by our ancestors. I won’t take a hammer to the bedrock of those beliefs that they died for to appease one mad Dwarf!”

Gannar spoke loud as the conversation bent to a different course. “This isn’t like that, we know Dain. We know what he really wants. Civil War might be averted and the conflict ended.”

Dwalin stilled by the fire, his hand crossing behind his shoulder for an axe. Fili looked to him now and shook his head. Decapitating Gannar wasn’t the answer to the problem, and yes, they knew what Dain really wanted. Every missive ended with a demand that his beloved cousin be restored to him. Not the rest of his family, just Olrun. Dwalin must have bitten his tongue so many times to prevent his begging for the Ironfoot’s head in the past months that Fili imagine he could whistle in musical chords when he exhaled.

Dwalin snarled the down the table them all. “He can’t have her. Keep your mouth shut if it thinks to spew that pig shit that he can!”

Gandalf shrugged then looked to Fili. “Do you think peace is possible?”

“We took back Erebor, watched a Dragon die in the lake. Many of us fought in a battle of five armies all out on the killing fields for their own reasons. Anything is possible.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised there would be reckoning with Dis about Thorin and this is the beginning. There will be a longer chapter with a lot of tears when it happens but this chptr leads to that one.
> 
> The next update will be to Sad Tales and it will be Bain's time at a brothel. I am writing those stories in chronological order and there is one story that has to be finished and posted before the ending starts.
> 
> Looking up names for babies.. because yeah twins are coming ! lol..and Tauriel's ! If you have an idea, comment it! 
> 
> I appreciate all who still read this story and enjoy it as much as I do writing it! Thank you all so very much !


	62. Chapter 62

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swinging On A Star
> 
> By Bing Crosby
> 
> Would you like to swing on a star  
> Carry moonbeams home in a jar  
> And be better off than you are  
> Or would you rather be a mule

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kili's POV... This is the last cute chapter.. its all down hill from here..

Sigrid watched her children with complete love as they rambled over their uncle. Willa had propped her up on a large mound of pillows atop a divan near the fire so that she might see them all rather than stay abed. Vigdis made comments of her looking like a sow with a full litter, a joke but one that got her smacked with a pillow by way of Lady Thrud. The antics of her ladies never failed to brighten her mood.

She had risen early to see off her brother, Bain. Fili had been adamant for him to return despite his protestations. With Dain on their doorstep, the next King of Dale couldn’t be risked on his whims. Kili had asked the Elves to return with him, to ensure his safe return. They too had been vocal about staying with him at the Lady of Lorien’s behest, but the argument was sound that they would not enjoy their time under the Mountain. She could see it in their faces that they would relish the prospect little at all.

Bain was different, changed. Sigrid couldn’t put her finger on it just then, but there was an ease about him that had been missing. It was like he was finally at home in his own skin or maybe it was because he had some adventure that didn’t include running the mill with some gang or other. This friend, Dorlad, was old for all his youthful looks, an old soul trapped in those warm brown eyes. What had happened to him in these last months was the making of him, a turning point that gave him some purpose.

Kili’s return was a blessing, no matter that there had not been proper hugs to bless the day. He had gushed over her, smiling and happy. Bain had told her, warned her that he was changed. But it was still a shock to see him so jovial after the haggard emptiness that had been her near brother. Finding Tauriel had been the balm for his ragged soul. His eyes sparkled with humor, surprising her when he took her hands as he knelt at her side. Unable to rise without assistance, he kissed the backs of each in greeting. Her belly was quite large, inflated with what Willa supposed to be twins.

The thoughts of two children at once filled her with joy and teeming love for her husband. From that moment of their children’s birth, she lived in the particular sunless world reserved for the mothers of Khazad and would until the Valar took her from the world. It was a happy life, one that made her proud. More so now that Kili would settle here with Tauriel, maybe there would be children in their future as well. The future tellings of their lives would remind the listener how precious and fragile life can be and that each must risk their hearts every day to know happiness. What stories and songs would be made of these adventures? She wondered as the children began to yell loudly and whoop in an infantile battle.

Fili had spoken with her last night after having a pint or two with the others, cautioning her to silence about Tauriel though strangely Bain had not. Kili had found her and married but a pall hung over the situation in part to Amad Dis and her reactions. There was nothing for it, Dis would have her own opinions as they had found out harshly in the last months. Tempers struck faster than heat lightning, exploding in loud bangs around the Mountain. No one liked the enforced seclusion, yet none liked the idea of getting gored by one of Dain’s boars. Sigrid was privately outraged that Dis had come out so negatively, every indication had been that the Princess would accept the Elf into the Mountain. Her husband had been most angry with his mother, snarling about her ill humors until he pulled Sigrid as close as possible and let sleep find them.

Even her love, Fili was not immune to sparking humors though he held his composure better than the others in last weeks. Dis and Dwalin’s annoyance at Dain aside, the King under the Mountain made every effort to appear amongst his people to soothe the anxiety and foster good relations with every Dwarf in the mountain. There had been some pockets of negativity, saying that Dain might be a better choice. Such tidings cause Fili sleepless nights, Balin too according to the Lady Eir. The council met daily, constantly with the arbiters who patrolled their outer borders to ensure safety of Erebor. This morning though, Fili stayed with them rather than the endless meetings, letting their sons roughhouse with Kili to laugh at their play. His laughter fertilized her smile for it she had missed it’s buoyancy.

There was little that she didn’t love of him, falling into that well of deep emotion was not as difficult as it had been for others she knew. Fili had reached out and pushed some hair behind her ear one morning. The gesture was tender, but it hit her with an unexpected force, like when you’re in a boat and it suddenly dips to one side. The queasy feeling of nerves unsettled her, an odd reaction Sigrid couldn’t calm until then. Dwarf who touched her brought out those sensations, a waterfall of hot and cold rush along her skin. Fili wasn’t soft, not as she knew a Man could be, and it made the gesture that much more. The feelings of late grew from a trickle to a flood, making her wonder if the heat from his fingers was a lie or was he warm like that everywhere.

Kili had been easier in the beginning, his smiles came at the drop of rain. Even faster if Tauriel was about. He had laughed in those old times as he did with her children before them, though now it had a rusty quality. It was what made his decline of last years that much harder to watch. No one should live without their love.

“Kili, if you keep tumbling Fian in that manner you will see what he had for breakfast!” Sigrid laughed as her near brother looped her oldest over a shoulder then hung him upside down by slender ankles.

Squealing laughter answered her as the newly walking Vian latched on to Kili’s leg to take a bite from it. Her little boy had taken to biting anything but his teeth were not so sharp as to do damage to his Uncle’s corded pants as they had to poor Blain last week. The young Dwarf had been nervous about her son ever since! Kili was not so squeamish, righting Fian to toss him in the air and catch him the free arm and dancing away from Vian in an additional taunt.

“Kili!” Sigrid struggled and failed to rise, prompting her husband to rush across the room to her. “I did not carry him in my body for eleven months so that you could crack his head on the floor!”

Rubbing a hand over her swollen midsection, she smiled as Vian toddled a few steps then jumped back into the fray as Fian pulled sharply at a braid near his uncle’s ear. Kili was one of those quite rare adults who communicate with small children fairly well and who love them all impartially—not in a sugary way but in a business-like fashion that may sometimes entail a hug, or in the current situation, a toss into the air.

Kili looked at the child at his leg to the one squirming and laughing all in his arms. He picked up Vian who promptly bared his teeth to take a chunk out of the older Dwarf’s arm. Kili looked at Sigrid with a raised eyebrow as his brother enfolded her in his arms to lie on the divan with her. “Your son is part Warg, Athanu Men. He growls at me even now. This little monster will be the scourge of the Lonely Mountain, you mark my words!”

Sigrid laughed as he gently placed Vian back to the ground only to watch her son grab Kili’s leg again to ram his little head against the side of his knee. The hit struck true as her near brother’s expression bulged in surprise, his hand reaching down to grasp Vian’s arm and pull him away again. At the last minute or maybe it was Sigrid’s startled gasp, her near brother yanked up Fian who attempted to wiggle from his grasp to keep his head from meeting the floor. The Queen gave a sour look the King’s brother but couldn’t hold back her giggling for long.

“Wait until you have children of your own! Then we shall see who will be growling at what!”

Sigrid found her laughter was solitary for Fili only smiled as he placed a kiss on her head. But Kili, his whole demeanor changed, like a cloud passing over the sun. He attempted a smile, but it looked all wrong. It was the grimace of someone in pain, someone who carried with him the memory of joy, with none of its delight. She wondered if she had made a misstep of sorts, some news that she was no privy. Kili cleared his throat as he hoisted Fian once more then set him down. Her son, always enjoying a joisting play, threw his hands up for another bout.

“Come, nadadith. I have a surprise for you.” Fili rose from her divan, tucking her in with a few furs. “I will send Willa to you if you prefer the company.”

Sigrid’s fingers found his beard, touching him as she knew he enjoyed. The look he gave her was sensual as he took a bag from Blain, those eyes holding his love and a promise of pleasurable punishment later. She returned his smile and shook her head. Might as well take another nap, she thought as her children were herded to their rooms for their own lying in.

****************

The passages wound this way and that, dumping finally out to an as yet unused hall. The standard six doors to six rooms lined the wide expanse. Kili looked about him, trying to get his bearings. They had to be in somewhere in the higher eastern section of the Erebor, maybe two levels above the Barracks. He trusted his brother, followed his lead though it was worrisome that all the years he had lived in this mountain, he could still become thoroughly lost. They stopped at the first door to the left with Fili lighting the torch to one side. Someone had been here recently as the cobwebs that should have wreathed the metal holders were absent.

The door gave a deep groan like an old Dwarf moving against his will, creaking at the hinges. Old bones made the same sound at unwanted exercise. Following into the darkness, Fili went along one wall, lighting torches to brighten the room, yet it was for nothing. A jagged seem cut into the wall allowed the morning sun to flood the room. The carvers had dug too close to the mountainside, conceding to the break in the wall.

“I don’t know how we missed this hall, but it was found just into the new year.” Fili placed the torch in a holder by the door. His look was both expectant and excited. “Mom will want you at the Royal halls but I thought Tauriel would like more access to the sky. The cut in the wall can be widened for a doorway so this might be a receiving room. There are plenty of rooms on this hall to fill with babies when you two get the chance.”

The smirk on his brother’s face told him that Fili knew what they would have been up too in last months. He couldn’t know that all the ‘practicing’ had borne fruit faster than he had thought possible. More than once. Not wishing for the road that conversation would lead, Kili took a few minutes to look at the space.

“Sigrid looks like she will need all the rooms down the Royal Hall at any road.” Kili looked speculatively at his brother before taking note of the high ceilings. “If she _is_ bearing twins, your two boys will no longer have enough space in the Athane’s chamber.”

Squared corners, almost painfully sharp with smooth walls completed the room. The craftsman had made it longer than his own room on the Royal Hall, most likely for a large family with a least one child. He could see that the last owner had taken the time to make sure that a child wouldn’t hurt himself if he fell; Dwarven child have hard heads but there can still be injury. Walking to the break in the wall to the outside rockface, he could see a goodly ledge that looked close to ten feet out. The dragon could have struck the outside, breaking the wall on a pass before he rammed the open gates for entry, setting afire all that stood on the mezzanine above them.

“This will be the last pregnancy.” Fili said quietly, leaning against the wall to stare at nothing. “This bearing has been very hard on her. Two healthy boys and what child she delivers now, is truly a blessing and more than enough to carry on the Line of Durin.”

“Just so, but you cannot know whether the Great Smith will carve more children for you.” Kili knew this to be true as the conversation fell into the cracks of what he couldn’t say.

Likely this hall had belonged to a small clan of miners for the construction to be so fine, Kili thought, his attention diverted from his brother. Erebor’s individual halls had been passed down through lines of descent with the Dowagers abandoning their rooms for a suite in the Halls closer to the Promenade. Relations lived close, educated their young ones in the same family songs before they were sent for training at a Stripling age.

“Sigrid is a daughter of Man, there are ways around it.” Fili was evasive but confident that he understood what he was saying.

Considering a proper Mannish healer was living in the Mountain with a Dwarf husband, Kili supposed anything was possible. The hustle of their travel to this hall left him surprised at how many settlers had come to the mountain in his absence, not just the Dwarrowdams from the Iron Hills and their miniature sounder or the stray daughter of Man who found love in the arms of a Dwarf. A caravan must have arrived with more pilgrims looking to settle here if the scuttle of activity was any indication. Idly, Kili wondered how they bypassed Dain and his pigs to get into the gates.

At the wan end of spring when the trees had barely come into bud and the fields beneath lay fallow, the land was beautiful, achingly so Kili realized as they walked out to the little used ledge. They had to be at least two thirds up the mountain side. The browned vale, dead from winter’s chill, waved out to the dotted line of trees. He could see all the way to the Lake from here, the white blue of the river feeding it from just to their left. It would be a place in his memory, long years from now, he would remember that he had shed blood for this Mountain. Tauriel had as well. He found that he both loved and hated this rock.

Happy was he to ensure that Bain was safely on the road home but it was odd too. Dorlad had volunteered to stay but a Man in the Mountain would make others nervous. Many were on edge because for the Umli in and out of their space, Kili thought to minimize the impact. The Elves had left under vicious protest but they couldn’t help him at the Mountain. It would be just as bad as if Thranduil, himself strode into Dain’s camp and lopped off the Ironfoot’s head.

But with their departure, the last link with the recent past left too. The part of him that had changed thanks to Tauriel’s return was still green with growth and it worried him that the pressure of the Mountain could stunt it. He wanted to be the Dwarf who loved an Elf, Kili beloved of Tauriel, not Kili the Grim. The King’s Justice. He had seen it in his mother’s face, she wanted him to be the Dwarf who left Ered Luin. He _was_ that Dwarrow but only with his One.

Fili took a seat beside him, opening a satchel that the young Dwarf had given him as they left. A large bottle of beer, no tankards, and a warm loaf of bread. Not a hearty meal for one of their clan but food as a way of opening a road for conversation that might have been closed. Good strong beer might loosen a silent tongue into sharing every ill thing. Kili had intentions of speaking with his brother about what he wanted in the future for his family, but not yet. Dain, he could see the great traitor’s camp to the east with his bonfires to keep the Abkarul Hakhd warm on these last cold days before the spring warmth. Once the Ironfoot was dealt back to his halls, then he would speak with his brother about the pressing matters of taking a seat in Ered Luin.

Fili tore off a hunk of the bread before handing it off to Kili. “How did you find the Gondorians?”

A black wave patched the sunlight as the Ravens swept by, some fifteen strong. Röac flew to the lead, cawing to the brothers as they both raised a hand in salute their avian friend. Kili reminded himself to ask the leader if any in his flock might consider moving to Ered Luin. There was a chance that the Karak Urdekal may not thrive so far to the west, Thorin had never asked them that Kili knew. The benefits to both of them might outweigh their reluctance if their nests were getting too full, would be most helpful in sending correspondence to the Lonely Mountains. A raven in flight was much faster than a rider would be. Fili nudged him for an answer, bring him back to the present and farther from his plans.

“I found them lacking.” Kili grumbled as he took the food to pull the heel away.

It was good quality, the bread, not sourdough like what he had in Yavien’s kitchen. Fili knew that Kili had always loved the crusty ends to soak up the honey found in Dori’s hives outside of the Halls in the Blue Mountains. It brought back memories of bee stings and the sweet nectar on his lips after a hard day of training.

“How so?” Fili was genuinely curious, he could tell by his expression as he chewed thoughtfully. “It is a world of Man, more than what you would see in Dale.”

Fili had always been the studious son of Dis’ pair. It was a requirement in Kili’s mind that his brother make every effort to learn as much as he could to either be the next King in waiting or at least a councilor to a child of Thorin’s should he take a wife. The hours he had spent pouring over books and old scrolls along with Ori at Balin’s knee then over the son of Fundin’s shoulder had made him a worthy Dwarf. Not just an Heir but a soul full of substance that wanted more for his family, his people than he himself had had in early life. Fili would not understand Gondor, the decadent lifestyle on the backs of slaves.

“I saw the end of a life there. It is a corpse that is slowing decaying, moldering in the reek.” Spying a look to his brother, Kili continued in that vein of something that occurred to him on the road. “It is where we will be in at the end of our lives if we are not careful.”

There were no words that could adequately describe to him what had been witnessed in the White City for it was unlike anything he had ever seen. The idea of men laying with children for some odd perversity, young boys and girls who had no hope of escape, angered him deeply. Berker the stablehand had mentioned the pits deep underground that house fighting for sport contests. Money was gambled away, fortunes could be made on the right evening.

“You do not know.” Fili grumbled with a full mouth, spewing chunks on his tunic. “Do not speak of things that you have no understanding.”

“I know that every kingdom has a dawn, a beginning. Erebor fell in flames but it had already started to die under the boot of our ancestor.” Kili told him passionately. “Now, it has the chance for a new life under your axe, my brother.”

Durin’s folk could decide to remain in their isolated delfs, becoming more and more obsessed with looking inward instead of outward, like the Stiffbeards in the far wastes or they can decide to be great together. They can decide to stagnate as Dain had done, or give everything to grow by leaps and bounds like the Firebeards had in Ered Luin. Why should they decide to settle for the status quo, when all of them could decide to reach for the stars and live vibrant lives?

“Smaug has taken so much from our world, a whole generation of Durin’s folk died here fouling the magic that took untold years to build.” Fili threw the last of his bread over the edge. “With the Arkenstone buried and Durin’s ring lost, we are not as strong as we were during Thror’s time. Fian is half Mannish blood, I fear sometimes that Mother was right about him having the strength to rule the Mountain after I’m gone.”

Smaug sitting on the hoard below added to the taint of death in Erebor’s foundation stone. A delf was only as strong as the living Dwarf within the protection of its mortar, each together in a symbiotic existence. The natural essence of each Khazad soaks into the rock by touch and voice, adding to the harmony. A song of the First Seven spoke to their descendants of blood purity, that it was the only way to meld with their home deep underground. Learning the music of gems, the tune of the ore in a particular delving took time. The songs of each could be understood by one of the Khazad, not a half blood or less. Yet, Fili and Kili found love outside their race and only the years to come would attest if the First Seven was correct or just a legend built on the backs of xenophobic Dwarven kings and headmen.

“We are strong, nadad. Your sons are part of your strength and so is Sigrid. Dwarves are only whole when they love and the love is returned in full measure.” Kili looked in the general direction of the traitor’s camp. “Fear not for your children, they will find their love and themselves in years to come. The enemies we have not met will tremble at the whisper of their names.”

Fili looked unconvinced, the constipated pinching around his lips told Kili that Fili had heard him but was trying to place the words into the context he understood. The world they knew was changing and not for the better. Fili’s corner of Arda would not always be the way it was at this moment in time, seeing the world had opened his eyes in that manner.

“I do not wish to fight, my brother. Truly.” Fili handed him another pass at the bottle. “How did Tauriel find Gondor if you liked it so little?”

“She liked it well enough. We camped out in the provinces a great deal to get her out of the city. The Gondorians have a deep love for Elven culture but no likening at all for Dwarves.” Kili took a drink before handing the bottle back. “The Lord who lent us his house cautioned us about her being seen. I think they might have tried to take her from me had she been found.”

“To what end?” Fili reared back in offense, clenching the bread until it flaked and crumbled in his lap.

“For any end, I suppose, as an enforced guest of the Steward? He has a son of marrying age.” The bread stuck in his throat at the thought of Tauriel being forced to take another for husband. “They hold slaves there, coveting my wife would not have been a hardship.”

Others had coveted her, Werrmund, Alfgivia, the Elf, Legolas. Yet for all the others with their unreasonable thinking, Kili loved Tauriel, only for herself, wanting nothing in return save her love. His wife was a true ghivesh, an incalculable treasure, whether she believed him or no. It made him feel both humbled and nervous to be the recipient of her glorious affection. Elves and Dwarves have a long history of anger and fighting, it might be a reason that the Men of their world liked Dwarves so little. They emulated the Elves at every turn, why not take on their hatreds?

“I doubt you would have allowed that to pass.” Fili gave him a sideways smile, nudging his brother a bit.

Kili grimaced as the memory of Werrmund surfaced and the gaping ruin he had left of the Man’s face. “No, none shall touch my love without an answer.”

Only love makes a warrior hesitate for fear that his lady will find him cruel. Only love makes a male both the best he will ever be, and the weakest. Sometimes all in the same moment. There had been no recrimination from Tauriel, not then nor in the months that elapsed since the incident. The scoring was enough a reminder to the Man about his mistreatment of others and the selfish greed. However, there were days that Kili wished he had ended it and taken the Man’s life. One day, he may come to regret his mercy as Aeldklif advised. Surely, Alfgivia would have thought differently of her plans to keep Tauriel there if she understood the lengths a Dwarf might go for the One who holds his heart.

The yodeling sled dogs reminding him of the threat upon their culture and Dain’s own perversions. The Stiffbeards mingled with the pelted Umli to care for their animals, leaving Kili to wonder at what they have to gain from this situation. Dwarves, even the most honor bound, looked for profit and enrichment.

“How long have the Stiffbeards been camped here?” Kili asked with nonchalance or at least, some semblance of it. He wrestled the beer to take a drink and wash down the baked bread. “I can’t see how just those few have managed to hold off the boars.”

The Umli went about the care of their Frost Antlers, brushing them down and checking hooves. If they were aware of the King and his brother watching from the mountain, they gave no indication. Half Dwarf by their ancestry, Fili’s children would share characteristics with them. Seeing their movements, he could envision Fian growing taller than his father though never could he be mistaken for anything but a half blood. His mother’s softer nose and longer fingers had taken root, breeding a more Mannish child than Khazad. It was too early to say who Vian would favor though both children stared at the world with their father’s blue eyes rather than the warm brown of the Line of Girion.

It’s funny, sometimes, when you look at the people who brought you into this world and you see yourself so clearly in them. Kili had inherited his mother's dark hair but not the hatred of Elves. Fili took their father's blond hair yet none of the impulsiveness that caused a Stiffbeard to live so far from his kin. His brother had taken a daughter of Man for his wife and Queen, one of the most impulsive and wrong footed things Fili had ever done when the daughter of some headsman might have served Erebor better. Mahal in his wisdom touched Fili’s heart for him to know Sigrid and see her as his One, proving that love was more important that deals and alliances.

“Dain fears one who came with them. Alvitr udar. She was old when Erebor fell and refused to leave Kibil Tarag until now. Glorin tells that she has tremendous power and influence there. One of the last oracles in our race.” Pointing to an Umli dressed in bleached leather and white pelts, Fili chuckled at Kili’s startled expression. “That is Bais, sister to the headman of the Umli and Alvitr’s granddaughter. Bais is formidable in her own right without her Dwarrowdam grandmother sitting quietly in her shadow.”

A crone hobbled from the yurt as if on cue, swathed a thick cloak and supported by a pale colored cane. Kili focused on her walking stick to see that it was probably bone of some large animal. Her beard and braid were solid white advising a great age, though her stride belied her braids. Her long woven skirts brushed the ground, effectively hiding her lower body and the rapidity of her movements. She stopped before her grandchild as the taller woman leaned forward to speak closely. Oracles were few and greatly revered for they might bless the listener or curse them with knowledge.

“Thane Fili, I was wondering if I might have a word?” A voice drifted from the seam in the wall. A well- known voice that drew a sigh from both brothers at once. The grey wizard had an indescribable habit of being in the right place at the wrong time.

“Gandalf.” Fili said to their old friend but whispered to Kili. “Gelekh d’ashrud bark.”

Kili snickered as his nadad brushed his hands on his upper thighs, shifting his shoulders as if the unseen weight of the Mountain itself settled again on his heavy frame. It saddened him more than words to know that his brother couldn’t find a few moments to himself anymore. Kili laid his hand on the closest arm, squeezing the muscle to feel through the layers the molten heat of him. Fili patted his hand in understanding as he got to his feet. The King’s brother nodded over his shoulder to the wizard and Dwalin who navigated themselves through the crack in the mountain to stand before the King.

The tall Dwarf was the same or could be the same excepting the braids at his ragged ears. He had not come with them to Nori's last evening, rather walking with his betrothed in the gallery. Kili had not seen the Dwarrowdam as yet who had started this ruckus, hearing amongst old friends that she was a pretty lass and Dwalin's One. The tale of the pair’s separation for some forty years was stunning, but it explained Dwalin’s foul mood. He had never spoken of knowing his One, or that she waited for him.

There had been no chance to offer his congratulations as he had to Oin, it was a private situation and not all clear cut. Kili could only hope the Broadbeam 'dam had a tough sensibility to tackle so hard a head. Considering Dain’s intensity to have her back, it must be her lot in life to entice obstinate Dwarves. He knew from experience that what a beating heart wants can overtake what the mind advises as forbidden. It is impossible to control these feelings, no matter the effort. Dain’s desires were still an abomination to their culture.

“Glorin and Balin are below with ideas on a meeting tomorrow. I agree with their proposals in helping along the stalemate you have found yourself.” Gandalf told him with a smile. “Per our conversation yesterday, I believe that the end will be to everyone’s benefit.”

The Wizard towered over his brother but in his relaxed stance, looked of equal height. His grey robes blended his lanky body into the stone at his back, a Dwarven trait if ever there was one. It was his greatest gift, Kili thought, being able to appear innocuous when he was at his most devious. Kili had seen him last night cornered with Balin and Galar in Nori’s tavern, with a lit pipe in his hand. No doubt the end of this buffoonery of Dain’s was nigh without the possibility of copious bloodshed.

Fili left without comment, turning sideways along with Dwalin at his heels. Kili wondered how he negotiated his life, being a King, a father, and husband as well as friend and confidant to many. Days like these, Fili’s placid acceptance was more welcome than Kili’s hot blooded enthusiasm. Taking to his feet, he had not realized until then that he wasn’t alone. The wizard came to stand at his shoulder, watching the Umli and Stiffbeards alike work outside their yurts. The weather was colder this far from the valley floor and a lesser mortal might find himself shivering as a result of the altitude.

Reaching down, Gandalf tugged at the braid that Fian had found quite by accident. Buried behind his ear, it had escaped notice so far. “You have not told him?”

Pulling the braid away, no liking his hands on it, Kili snapped. “No, and I will thank you to keep it to yourself. Things here are bad enough without the weight of the past!”

The braid, Kili tucked back behind his ear. The construction was of remembrance with beads capped at the end for his family. Unless told differently, any Dwarf might think he wore the braid for his father or Thorin or even his Grandfather. None at the Mountain knew yet he plaited the hair in loving memory for the child he and Tauriel had lost.

“You might at least feel some pity for him. _Dain_. He could lose as much for love as you have, mayhap more.” Gandalf looked out on the vale below at their allies who went about their morning.

In the Iron Court everything is a secret, but there is no secrecy. The Ironfoot would take his cousin as consort, for his lust and greed, preventing her choice in Dwalin. Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. Fili had taken a stand against this terrible corruption of a lesser king who had lost sight of his responsibility to his people but also insulted his wife for the horrible sin of coveting. The love of power and the power to attract love were not easy to reconcile.

“I feel nothing for the usurper but I do pity his people. When you choose an action, you choose the consequences of that action. When you desire a consequence, you had damned well better take the action and the responsibility that created it.” The grim thoughts voiced didn’t lighten his anger, not for his cousin and what he did to Olrun and Dwalin. _Never for sending his warriors to take his wife_.

“None dispute this and his consequence will be most dire.” Gandalf’s tone was mollifying as tried to reach out to Kili. “The past will not change for it is set in stone.” The Wizard looked back at the Mountain as if it might give advice on the subject. “Durin’s folk will be one people again but what kind of people will depend greatly on this meeting. Do not let your resentment of Dain cloud the issue.”

Reaching down, Kili grabbed the bag Fili had brought so that he could leave. He tossed the last of his bread over the side for the ravens and thrush if they wished it. There was no reason to respond to the Wizard, the decision would be made by Fili. His brother would be merciful if he could, merciless if pressed. Dain _would_ press the situation for every drop of advantage.

Gandalf stopped him with a gesture. “We are caught in an inescapable network, mutuality woven in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly affects all indirectly.”

Kili craned his neck around the outer ledge’s view to look far to the east and the tendrils of smoke. Just over the next rise, Dain had made camp in the vale that fell away to the woodland edge. The river was at his back, giving him enough water but also forming a boundary that the boars couldn’t fight their way out. If an attack was planned to raid his camp, they would have to fight uphill as the Ironfoot held the rim but they could drown his pigs in the river if they lived. His sentries walked the crest even now, staring down at Erebor’s vale below.

“I support my brother and if he decides to spare the Ironfoot, I will not gainsay him. But should the King want Dain’s head for a footstool, I will personally swing the axe.” Kili growled to the Wizard as he quit the chamber and any further need of the Gray Pilgrim’s company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gelekh d’ashrud bark – Time to swing an axe  
> Alvitr – was the name of a Valkyrie and it is old Norse for wise or strange woman.. Udar is khudzul for wizard..she is a seer and a Stiffbeard Dwarrowdam.  
> Kibil Tarag is the Khudzul for silverhorn and the hall of the Thurlin’s folk.


	63. Chapter 63

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Give me your kings let me squeeze then in my hands  
> Your puny princes  
> Your so called leaders of your land  
> I'll eat them whole before I'm done  
> The battle's fought and the game is won  
> I am the one the only one  
> I am the god of kingdom come  
> Gimme the prize just gimme the prize
> 
> ~ Queen - Gimme the Prize ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fili's POV... war council.
> 
> Khudzul translations for the story  
> Ifthuzirin “Ironfoot”   
>  “Yanâd Durinul” Sons of Durin  
> Amnậdzu mahula. – your will be done  
> “Ifridî! - Make Ready  
> Sậti Khuzd – You are Dwarf  
> Baknul – Morning son  
> Anthân lu sharagên “Omens do not lie”

Fili settled into his chair, staring down the long table top to the others. The scrolled answer to the current compromise delivered via Bais and Glorin this morning turned his ale to acid in his belly. The righteous prick had the nerve to weasel in the demand that the kingdom be passed to his heir, Thorin as King under the Mountain rather than the Crown Prince, his son. Fili would be allowed to remain upon the throne for his lifetime as the last member of the direct line but his children would have to leave the mountain at his death. It went without saying that Sigrid would be dead long years when that happened.

Fili’s hands clinched anger at the slight to his son, that Dain could propose Fian leave the only home he would have known. The bastard knew what being forced to leave Erebor had done to Thorin and the others. It always hurts more to have and lose than to not have in the first place. The King under the Mountain had thought that Dain understood from the onset that Thorin Stonehelm would be sit the Mountain Court only if Fili’s line ended, if all his children were dead and any Kili might sire. Obviously not, for the pigheaded traitor was still spouting blood purity, insulting the Thane’s children with his rhetoric.

The Ironfoot _had_ gave over on the ore demands but countered for less tithing in the next decade. And still the sticking point at the end of each correspondence was having his cousin, Olrun, returned post haste. It made Fili wonder more than once if Dain was so arrogant to think the Armored Tooth boars might break Erebor’s closed gates or he had another trick up his sleeve.

Bais leaned back in her chair, drawing Fili’s attention at the movement. Taller than the back of it, right taller than the average Dwarf, she laid her head back to rest at the top of the stylized wood. Her braids hung down the other side in thick white cords, swaying minutely with her head movements. Fili could see her eyes moving as she watched the ceiling high above their heads. Bais had a few wisps of white hair that she plaited thinly at the corners of her chin, yet none at the length of her jaw. Fili would have thought her a juvenile at first glance if he had not known she bore a score of years on him. Taller than Dwalin by a head or more, her body was as stocky as a Dwarf but very noticeably female. A few of the males would look widely at her when she passed, nervous and excited at once. They didn’t see the hard line of the female who carried a bone spear and threw it with accurate ferocity.

Kirbil Tarag had no high ceilings like Erebor, or like Thorin’s halls in Ered luin. The Iron court had modeled itself upon the Silverhorn as a precaution to Drakes infesting their delvings. It was an excellent precaution but at the same time Fili could see their appreciation for the taller space. The grandeur and artistry of Dwarven kind complimented the expanse in a sweeping panorama of beauty. Glorin had the same enraptured expression when he first came to the Council chamber. The son of Hain had barely spoken a word in the Throne room.

Thurlin’s Folk and the Umli guests were much calmer than any of the Mountain inhabitants of late, swinging into two emotions. They either sat in calm repose or walked the chamber in jerky anger. Fili suspected though that the calm was a ruse. The Umli was at their calmest, relaxed when the Ironfoot had the most outrageous demands as if they fought themselves for control where they would love to gut Kibil’s mate. Bais had said nothing when she delivered the scroll, tossing it to Fili with feigned indifference before commandeering a chair at the end.

The quiet in the room was beginning to unnerve Fili, each member of the council that attended was subdued and withdrawn. The months of enforced togetherness had opened his eyes to something that he would have ignored in other situations. Though they were Dwarf, coming to life from stone at the hand of the Great Smith, not everyone enjoyed being below the surface and away from the sun. Kili probably the most of them all would feel the pressure of rock upon him after so many months in the open air. The ones who grew from Ered Luin, learning rock and stone in the broken ruins, didn’t have the same love burrowing in as the other beards did.

The Lady Eir drifted inside the door opened by a guard with Kili on her heels. She walked immediately to Balin, her red skirts shifting in agitated swirls about her legs. The poor Dwarrowdam clutched a sheaf of parchment to her bosom as if it were the lifeline that would keep Erebor from the Ironfoot’s grasping hands. Dwalin walked beyond her on an intercept course with Kili, stopping his before the fireplace.

Bais looked over at his younger brother with interest until she spotted his braids and read their meaning. He had seen that look before in the eye of other Dwarrowdams in the last five odd years, measuring and calculating their chances. The half Dwarven female threw her feet on the table as Eir spoke quietly to Balin at her left side, laying her head against the back of the chair once more.

His brother and Dwalin continued to speak as the low voices continued to add together as a veritable humming grind of an active bee hive. The swarm grew as Gloin added a voice to Balin and Eir’s debate then Galar joined them on the other side of the table. The volume rose until a word struck Kili’s attention, yanking him from Dwalin to walk to the table.

“Who calls me Kinslayer?” Fili watched his younger brother lean onto the wood with Dwalin right behind him.

“Kinslayer?” Fili’s stomach turned to stone in his middle as anger boiled his blood. “He has never touched a life craved from the line of Durin!”

It was the only reason that Dain was still alive. Kili hated Dain, hated him beyond thought and sound. The fact that the Ironfoot drew breath this morning was because Kili lived by the basic principle that governed their race. Family was everything, family would be there for you when you fell into despair. It was the reason that so many ignored what had happened to his brother years ago at the Overlook at Thorin’s hand. Many felt it was Thorin correcting his nephew on why he shouldn’t love an Elf. Kili had been hurt, and in response he had acted violently, destroying a little of himself each time he walked from his chambers into the wilderness.

Dain had also called Kili a brute of late, a mad Dwarf but only to his people. The Ironfoot told any who listened that the King’s Justice was like a dog that attacks a bull. He had no fear because he had no sense. Mad was a word that was bandied about much and regarded with ill humor. The Ironfoot was the one who had no sense rather as it was Iron Dwarves on his order that attacked Tauriel in the corridors. The ripples spread in a pond once the stone has been tossed, changing the appearance. One waves causes another and so forth until the whole is unrecognizable.

“Kili slew a cousin of his grandmother’s. His kin, not a member of the line of Durin.. Dain overlooks it in favor of a compromise.” Balin reasoned with quiet determination, his toil worn fingers as stained as the Lady Eir’s, rubbed over the parchment.

Stress and worry were aging him faster now than the intervening years. If this continued, his chancellor would never live to see Moria. Dwarrowdelf and Durin’s Bane would never have to worry about the son of Fundin reclaiming the mine for Erebor. The Umli arbitur wiggled in her seat, pulling his attention to her. Bais stared at Kili once more as he withdrew. The look was speculative as her lips quirked to one side and completely lost on his brother.  

“Piss on his compromise. Go for his stones, I say.” Bais shifted to place her feet on the table for greater comfort. “I grow weary of this to and fro. Ifthuzirin plays for time, though I know not why.”

The humming conversation died away as the Dwarves looked to each other. Their thinking was written on every face though Fili could read it by rote. The long game was Ifthuzirin’s or Dain as the Thulin’s Folk named him, to win. The Stiffbeards and their allies would have to leave for home at some point as the summer’s heat would be unhealthy for their animals who lived and breathed the cold. Even now, the warm breath of the late spring whispered on every tree like a lover tempting it to bloom. If Dain cut off the supplies from Dale once the Stiffbeard’s left, in a year’s time, everyone in Erebor would be starving.

“Diplomacy is an unappreciated art.” Balin reasoned with a gimlet eye to the Umli leader. “Having patience can be a benefit, especially for an arbiter.”

The grizzled humor was sharper on her than on a male but no less frightening. Dwalin had little use for Bais, stomping a path into the stone floor with no more remorse. His leather boots were louder than any of the boars upon the plain before the Lonely Mountain. The unyielding of Olrun’s family to wait before settling their marriage abraded him at every turn. The son of Fundin’s roots started in this delf, and like the others he had transplanted them to Ered Luin. His homecoming should have been a time of peace and plenty, not fighting with their family. Pity was not something one might feel for their erstwhile captain, but Fili could not help it.

“I have been patient, more years than possible, nadad.” Dwalin stared at his brother with grim determination. “I wish for my time with my One.”

Dwalin had given, time and again he had fought for Durin’s folk. The last months had taught the tall tattood Dwarrow that nothing good came for free. Fili watched the rumble of anger subside in the captain of the guard and the conclusions he drew were simple. Erebor required sacrifice, it required blood of a Dwarf to feed the stone but it wouldn’t take the heart of each of them. If the King under the Mountain had it say in their lives, he could guarantee they each had the right to find love as he had.

“You shall have it, Dwalin. I won’t allow his _ambition_ to ruin your happiness.” Fili didn’t bellow, didn’t roar as the others might. The two sentences echoed in the chamber just the same.

The room spun on running emotions, speeding at collision of two rams fighting over a peak. Fili was to a point of taking Bais’ suggestion and riding out to Dain to cut him from his boar to gut him until he bleed out. If they had war brought to them, war should be answered. Insults had been bandied about for too long.

“Ambition is not a dirty word.” Balin told him softly, not looking up from his documents.

Galar and Eir both froze into hart-like stillness as their master took an opposite position to their Thane. Their twin expressions of shock smoothed into calm indifference, waiting for the inevitable explosion of Fili’s temper that was so near the surface on lesser days. Dain’s demands had pushed him to this brink, asking for heavens and earth with everything between them.

“Treachery is. Betrayal is.” Fili snarled at the assembled as his anger gained momentum like a pendulum on the upswing. “Oathbreaker...Dirty words all and everyone describes the Ironfoot.”

Bais looked at him with a smile. “What do Durin’s folk do to betrayers?”

“We take their heads.” Fili told her with savage finality as he grabbed his tankard.

The world they lived could be categorized as in its infancy next to the aged realms of Gondor, Arnor and life in Elven wood. Dragon, Orcs, Were worms, Trolls, each had christened them with the unshakable belief of mortality. The violent birth of this Kingdom screamed full throated with the morbid chorus of the dying. Dain had been a grasper then, and the years had not changed him. It was cleansing to stand in the bonfires then, sweating away the black blood as they waited for the next round of fighting. Nothing in his life until now, came close to the Great Battle and the quakes that shook apart the old world from the bloodstained new. This fresh start, this radical place of neoteric design would never survive the treachery of a love maddened Dwarf bent on greed and destruction.

The shouting continued with each having an opinion of what was the right and who could do what. None of the council or the intermediaries noticed the wizened old Dwarrowdam shrouded gray by her cloaks, sidle along a far wall out of the way. She watched and listened to the loudest, only straining to hear the softest voices. They were usually the ones who bore the most sense out of the loudest braggarts.

Fili regarded her as she watched them all. Her eyes were icy blue, not milky with age as an ancient Man of that race but clear white with an outer rim of darker blue to contain the vastness of her power. He had seen her pupils flood that snowy field until it was a rich immensity of dark mine. Seer eyes, the long pull of it was hypnotic in a world that both embraced magic and feared it. The night sky was not so troubled as this Dwarrowdam was, a haunting sorrow drew her brow from its placidity.

“Yanâd Durinul!”

The others realized that they were no longer unto themselves, some watched in fear as the aged one approached. The awareness of Alvitr Udar in their mist shook them from their comfortable tankards, Gloin, Ganar and Eir backed away as if she were a scourge. Many feared what they didn’t understand, and none of the assembled could claim knowledge of this Dwarrowdam, not even her kin.

“Amnậdzu mahula, honored grandmother.”

Bais rose from her chair to take a stance by the fireplace, as was her wont in the presence of the old Dwarrowdam. She gave up her seat for the lady, pulling back to allow her to find her rest. Khudzul was as much cradle speech to the Umli as any child of the Mountain, an oddity that Fili had problems wrapping his head around the concept. The Umli lived apart though with leave to come and go at the Silverhorn.

“We are all born of broken pieces. We live life in vain attempts to mend it but it is only in Mahal’s Forge that we truly become what we are.” Her voice was thunder on the plain, punching hard at his belly with a powerful stroke. The eerie white focused on him in his chair, pinning him like a butterfly by its wings. “This is your time in the fire, son of Barukasi, time to see _your_ metal. Take the fight to him, fight him on the vale as warriors might, for honor’s sake! Ifthuzirin’s lust blind’s him to clan and folk. Forget about crowns and thrones. Ifridî!”

The Khudzul was a hammer stroke, breaking the silence. The eruption of so many Dwarrows arguing and fighting in both Westron and Khudzul fissured the air to form a fume of swearing and fierce gestures. Bais stood by the fire, admiring their vocal natures while Glorin chuckled to himself. Outsiders might have found their anger amusing, though Fili did not. It was a fear mad animal that ran until it dropped dead or a wildfire that burned away life for miles in any direction. The worst was Kili clamoring for the council’s attention.

“Any warrior who raises his fist to you must know he is gambling with his life and that he _will lose_. If I am your Justice, allow me the right of this contest!” Kili leaned against the table to stare at him from the distance, desperation and anger were at each and every line of his body.

My brother, Fili thought with a smile. Not at his century mark but having made a name for himself where others are still finding themselves. Kili had a strong heart but he was wrong in this where the crone was right. It was his honor here, Fili was head of their family as well as the King under the Mountain. It was a personal affront that their family had conspired against their Thane and hurt one of their own folk. Few understood or little tried to reconcile that his brother had loved an Elf beyond the edge of his sanity. Kili’s memories was just as bloodstained as his. No, the mantle was his to bear and his challenge to answer.

History is no more fixed and dead than a future that looms like a wraith in the distance. The past is no further away than the last breath taken out of the mouths of those dead who laid down their lives for the living. Events of so long ago were the crucible that forged them, chains of many strange metals. Poverty is one. Fear, another. Ritual and custom are yet more. All actions are forms of slavery, methods of forcing people to do what they deeply wish not to do. There had been food in Ered Luin, but not always plenty. His nadad had picked up a bow out of necessity because only himself and Kili's bellies stuffed to bursting would convince their hollowed mother to eat. The early years, the lean ones, had shaped their thinking.

“No, Kili.” Fili hoisted himself from the seat. “You cannot take this fight from me. Anymore than you could take my place in the Halls of Waiting. This is my battle, nadad. It always has been.” Looking around the room, his eyes found the axe of his father upon the sideboard. “We are done for today. _Everyone_. Send to the Ironfoot for a council upon the vale before the Great Gates. Make sure he understands that if he doesn’t come of his own accord, his men will be slaughtered before they reach their swine. And he will be left to walk back to the Iron Court.” Fili looked to Bais and Glorin to make sure they understood. “Peace exists and we will know it again. I would speak with Alvitr Udar for her wise counsel in private.”

Their anger wasn’t abated, wouldn’t for several hours, but Fili cared for little of it now. Bais walked out with Glorin and Bofur with the Lady Eir, and the others filing out through the Throne Room. Kili tried to stay behind but Dwalin pulled him from the room and Fili knew that that conversation was not done. His brother would want to take this fight and while the brother loved him for it, the Thane would have to refuse.

Fili walked to the sideboard, looking at his father’s axe while he refilled his tankard, then another one. Talking worked up a thirst, and even the ancient ones had need of refreshing. He mulled over his choice of topics but settled on the most unlikely as a beginner.

“Your granddaughter has been looking at my brother with interest.” Fili handed her a tankard for which she took with a grateful smile.

If the subject was offensive, the seer gave no indication. The Umli were a tactile people that he had seen, hugging each other as well as the Stiffbeards that would allow it. Alvitr Udar had lived all her life amongst them, claiming a Dwarrow as her first husband and an Umli for the second. _And burying both before her two hundredth year!_

“She is getting to that age of needing. Her One was picked by the Great Smith at her birthing long nights ago. He will be returning to us soon so that their life will be complete.” The old Dwarrowdam quaffed her drink then wiped her iron gray beard with the back of her hand. “Pay it no heed. Your brother will care little if she attempts something so foolish. He wears his love in his hair for all to see.”

Fili sat beside her, close in Balin’s chair, so that she was not troubled by the distance. “I would not have her embarrassed or feelings hurt.”

The old Dwarrowdam chuckled then reached to tug his moustache braid. It was a familiarity that was granted only to closest kin but staring at the seer, Fili paid it no heed. What kept her alive, what feed her magic was beyond him. She made noises, like a sigh on the wind as her gnarled fingers skated over his beard. There were things of this world that escaped his knowledge, to lay just outside his grasp. How did Mahal carve a Dwarf and bless the same with the insight to the One who completed him? Where the Halls of Waiting so vast that it might hold Sigrid and Tauriel, Willa after he and Kili returned to stone? So many questions and never enough answers.

“The Iron will not touch you, Thane. Nor will his son, Stone break you.” Her voice was quiet of its lightning shock but her magic still soaked the cadence. Fili was completely entranced by her hand as it moved along his check. “You are not the Durin foretold, but you have crossed the blood of the Eldest with that of a Dragonslayer. _He who will never die_ shall arise again from your progeny, stronger than the six who came before. I have seen this and it will come to pass.”

Power ate at him, gripping his mind harder than an Orc ever thought too. It shrank the cavernous chamber, narrowing down to just the two of them at the table. Fili wanted to struggle, to pull away from the glancing touch of the Dwarrowdam whose eyes were a solid blaze of energy. This was why others feared her, shunned her but he couldn’t. Her voice, deep and uplifting, was a melody of creation. It was something he was never meant to understand, only to listen and carry on afterwards with new purpose. The terrible privilege of being born with a gift of foresight carried a godlike responsibility to it.

An echo of her words spiked into his brain. “Sậti Khuzd, Fili _Baknul_ , son to the dawn of our new age. All Khazad will know this to be true for your light will guide us in the darkness to come. Anthân lu sharagên.”

Something fierce and primal wailed inside him like a hunting warg on the scent. Something inside him said, where others have failed, have faltered and fallen, Fili Baknul would be triumphant. The iced infinity broke from the seer’s eyes to reveal the whole span of existence. Durins, rings of power, Men, Dwarves and Elves unto a host of enemies until the last day of the world. The Great Smith knew Fili from birth, had chosen him for this time in their long history.

To be the King under the Mountain was to bring together that which he could be and that which he was.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Durin V in the online game killed a dragon, Thorog with his hammer Mirdanant. I have chosen to ignore this(yes, evil)…I rationalize to myself that since it isn't canon, it doesn't technically count. But then half the stuff I have added to this story isn't canon either.. lol
> 
> I went back and forth about Fili’s name. I ended up with Morning Son because my other was Allfather and that was too close to Odin from Norse mythology. I worked with that section where she gives Fili his name..not entirely pleased but it works for the interim.


	64. Chapter 64

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we are.  
>  Born to be kings.  
>  We're the princes of the universe.  
>  Here we belong.
> 
> Born to be kings,  
>  Princes of the universe.  
>  Fighting and free,  
>  Got your world in my hand.  
>  I'm here for your love and I'll make my stand,  
>  We were born to be princes of the universe. 
> 
> ~Queen - Princes of the Universe ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khudzul for your reading pleasure
> 
> Akkâ Belkulu Dain-Uzbad Lord Dáin’s Mighty Force”   
> Vermu – Greetings  
> Fight !!!! Fight!!! Fight !!!! – smack talk lol.. Dain is a major asshat.

 

The Dawn came to them, much in the usual way but with a frantic significance that cast a pall unto the inhabitants of the Mountain. Kili had watched the Grey Pilgrim leave from the Great Gates just before the purple cast turned to gold. He could see the stars wink out against the warming cover of morning sky, making him miss Tauriel all the more. Somewhere to the south, she gazed at this sky and bid each good morning. Kili knew this to be true with every fiber of his being.

He had talked with Fili last night after the Alvitr Udar left him for her yurt and a plan had been struck, hopefully to see an end to this fiasco. The name Baknul was an interesting choice for his brother but the seer was convinced of Fili’s importance in a Khazad future. She told of a darkness rising and how the Morning’s son would battle away the night’s evil. But for that to come to pass, the King under the Mountain would need to rise from the Mountain Throne to stamp down the Ironfoot. It was why Gandalf’s errand was not for him to know and it could only help how the day ended.

The Umli struck their yurts beside their Stiffbeard fellows, the rounded domes deflating like puffer mushrooms in the early light. The bent frame made of wood and bone, disconnected with economy into shorter pieces to be stored in the sleds. Like its inhabitants, the yurts were an obvious contradiction of both flexibility and strength. The elastic hided covering was not solely of fur, he could see this upon closer examination but a membrane of some animal not of his knowledge. None of the Dwarves of Erebor could say what comprised their irregular tents but they were most effective in keeping occupants warm and dry. The Umli would only smile when pressed, walking away or offering more of their gog to the asker.

Kili didn’t join their removal, leaving to go to the Thrane’s chambers. Bais had taken a chair at his table last night, plying him with ales that might have downed a male not versed in drinking. Her hand strayed once to his arm while he took a healthy quaff all but making him spit it the length of the tavern. The look in her eye was disturbing as was the next line of talk that resembled easing the night’s passage in her furs. He had left the table so abruptly, he couldn’t be sure that it hadn’t upended. A Dwarf knew the world they lived in, understood that marriage was for life. These Umli had no such reservations, or at least their women did not. Being propositioned by another that was not his wife angered him.

The uncomfortable situation forced him back to his chambers in the later evening, using a rebuilt corridor newly opened. Erebor was made whole in some areas but not all. Time and effort had not erased the ravages of Smaug’s entry into this place. He could still see the scorched stone where a blast of flame had been unleashed from the greedy worm, destroying a great people and bringing low their King and his heir. Thrain’s soul was demented at the end of his life as a result. Being alone in the wilderness, he had looked within himself and went crazed at the loss of potential. He had failed to understand that character reigns preeminent in determining potential. Circumstances have a say as does opportunity, but never when a Dragon takes your Delf for his own.

The King’s Justice acknowledged many on his trek to the royal halls. There are worse lives to live than being a Dwarf of Erebor. Dwarrows, striplings, and Dwarrowdams moved at their pace, unconcerned that their lives were changing forever after this day. His brother had worked hard on the language for what he proposed in the new charter, removing traditions that were of no benefit. Gannar had joked that if traditions were rational, they might be procedures, but he was still correct. There would be no unequal laws laid to harness a brutal race, there was one law. The King under the Mountain. Fili married himself to this rock with the crown being his wedding ring and the throne his marriage bed. Erebor was an unforgiving consort, jealous and cruel. It would take everything his brother possessed down in his soul but Fili would never complain, and Durin’s Folk would benefit.

The Royal Hall was deserted, many already about their own business, certainly his mother and Sigrid’s guards. Fili dressed himself with Dwalin’s help in his quarters, the boys played with different parts of his armor off to one side. The surcoat that wrapped his body was his best, a solid toiled leather with squared studs in a pattern down the front of royal runes. At the bottom of the coat that ended past his knees, the pattern split away to a simple blocks of raven, Dwarf and Man characters. The unification of all who stood under the protection of King Fili Baknul and his mighty axe. Dwarrows of their folk were one voice to roar his name, one beating heart to pump the molten river of life.

Grithur had worked a full year on the armor, ignoring everything else in favor of what he considered to be his finest creation. The loving care worked into the suit was a testament to his belief and artistry. The closures of the surcoat were clasped elaborated axes, locking the sides together down to his midriff.  Dwalin pulled the bronze interlocking plates from the boys for the correct sequence in strapping them down. Standing taller than his King, he had no trouble buckling them down one upon the other in a scaled fashion, starting at the bicep to continue up to the neck. The mail overlay was not gold as one might think but useful hard mithril with sparkling diamonds soldered into the links. Who knew how many chunked and old pieces of metal the armorer had salvaged to make something so fine and yet so sturdy.

Sigrid sat nearby with his great axe, their father’s axe, laying across what little lap she still possessed. Her large belly, swathed in shimmering layers, bore the testament to a renewal of life. Claimed and matched with a peerless wife, Fili could find none better than the former Princess of Dale. No Dwarrowdam could know the struggle of Lake Town or Dale to her degree, and still possess her kind heart. If she resented the other entity that took her husband from her, she never said. There was too much love in her for the family they had made to not walk willingly into any foray at the King’s side. Sunlight and thunder to themselves, Fili and Sigrid fitted together in a way that made the two of them more than each could ever be on their own.

Kili stared for a while in the door, not interrupting the attention between to the two or the actions of others dressing their Thane. He felt open, more exposed than he had in so very long because it was there for him to see rather than to be wallowing in his own anger. As he regarded the inhabitants of the room, Kili knew their love was everlasting. Husband and wife looked to the other as Fili’s vestments were righted, a thousand things said without the silence broken. Daughter of Man, wife, Athane, and Mother. Sigrid aged from her birth to rise and shine before Rhovanion and melt the margins of separation between Man and Dwarf. A noble task that would have broken a lesser soul.

“Come in or leave.” Her voice echoed, though Sigrid’s gaze never leave left her husband. “It is bad luck to stand betwixt and between.”

“It is the title of my life, near sister.” Kili answered with a grin. “Less bearded than a Dwarrow, more Mannish in my habits. If my Amad had not loved my Adad with so fierce a devotion, I might settle upon the idea she danced a night or three with a tinker or at the very least, an Elf of some clan.”

Dwalin hissed at him but said nothing the King who stepped away to his wife. Sigrid didn’t rise from the divan, nor could she if her ankles would permit the action. “Amad Dis would have your head if she heard the talk.”

“She is most welcome to it.” Kili advised as he brushed away from the jam. “She brought me screaming into the world, and can so take me out of it.”

Fili snorted at him and his fickle words but walked to his wife. He knelt before her, placing his forehead on her knee just below the axe handle. The weight on her legs must be significant but she never complained. Taking a hand from the thick tooled hilt to run along his neck, it drew attention to the braids in his brother’s golden hair. Long they were and intricate, the ropes of twisted hair started at the front of his head to stack themselves all the way to the back. The same message resounded in each one: _Thane_ to be clipped at the bottom with clasped bearing the royal seal of Erebor. Sigrid had worked them, Kili realized, for his brother couldn’t have done so fine a job at the back of his head. The Athane was tender in her stroking, a flutter of fingers while its twin grasped the axehead in a white knuckled grip. She knew that today meant and what it could cost her husband and family if Dain could not be reasoned.

“It is time.” Dwalin spoke. “You know all that you need to know from Olgr and Vigidis. Their advice will not steer you wrongly.”

The Iron Dwarves who had taken refuge in Erebor had been educating Fili over the last few months for all of Dain’s and the boar’s weak points. Calling them Iron Dwarves was a habit that Kili found he would need to break soon. Olgr and his wife, Verdandi, were most popular in what had been termed as the Water Chamber council. Oin’s wife, Willa, as well as Vigdis, Olrun and Skuld, daughter of the Broadbeam chieftain had proved quite effusive. Young Skuld had been invited yet the whole clan had come as a result. What little Kili could interject about the situation had been hilariously overwritten, he had been so turned about in the conversation. All that was left for him to understand was, the Dwarrowdams were staying and Sigrid would have it so.

The Queen handed her husband his axe as he stood, dropping the balled point between the blades to the stone floor. He was decorated as a high king might with all the trappings of royalty. Dwalin walked to him, securing his mantle of state at his shoulders. The long blue cloak draped down his back in a ripple of fabric edged grey fox fur, accenting the work of art that was his armor. Every inch a King, Fili help his Queen to her heavy feet. Her gown was high waisted, a long sheen of purple silk that tucked at her bodice. She wore a circlet of gold with a single large sapphire at the fore.

“Has a divan been placed at the mezzanine, Dwalin?”

“It has.”

None would have looked askance if Sigrid had walked the length of the field to stand at her husband’s side. Size and advanced pregnancy would not permit the journey and Sigrid refused to look so weak as to be littered in front of the invaders. In all, it was better for if a skirmish broke out, the Queen would be a target and unable to leave with any discernable haste. While the thought of a female in advance stages of bearing should give a Dwarf pause, Kili didn’t trust the Ironfoot. She would watch from a safe distance in comfort, surrounded by her guards and ladies.

As they left the royal apartments, Dwalin and Kili took a slower stride behind the King and Queen. The pace was slow in part due to Sigrid’s waddling gait, yet she was no less regal for it. Two striplings brought the children, one walked while the other was carried. Kili could not, however, ignore so blatantly the end result of where Fili led and what would happen this day. He hated this deed, hated that it was Fili who would bear the brunt of the backlash. If the talks failed, the King would toss a challenge to the Ironfoot and the next day, take his head. Fili refused to allow him a say, advising only that the Alvitr Udar had given counsel to the end of the dark times they had suffered recently. The doom of their lives was yet to come. Kinslayer he would be called if a truce could not be struck, no matter that his kin would take his head given an opportunity. It would attach itself to his brother’s name, no matter what the Thulin’s folk thought of the matter of how Glorin spun it. A king might take a traitor’s life but never supposedly one of his own blood.

Burin and Relkar awaited with Balin, Ori and several others of Thorin’s company. Oin and Uri stood at the back with Oin’s wife, Willa, where the path to the Great Gates split to the balcony above for an unfettered view of the proceedings. Two Striplings that were unfamiliar to Kili stayed with the children, edging them to Willa’s side and Sigrid’s guard. Hearing the story of how Sigrid faced down a Dwarrowdam with a trio of knives taken from the gate Guards had made Kili laugh but also gave him a higher respect for his near sister.

The Queen bent her head, kissing her husband’s lips but Kili could see her hand tremble at his sleeve. When she pulled away, majestic as any he had seen in life, Fili bowed his head to her and took her hand in his. He kissed the back of it, staring into his wife’s eyes until she thinned her lips to hold back tears. It was a sadly beautiful moment, one that made him feel compelled to shove a pike in Dain’s throat for the pain he caused his brother.

“Kili?..Kili.” Dwalin drew at his near side, ushering forward a Dwarrowdam as he tucked Fili’s helm under an arm. The stoic militant son of Durin was puffed and proud of the female upon his arm. “You have not met my betrothed. This is Olrun, daughter of Tarag, relation to Linnar’s folk.”

The big tattooed Dwarf held the hand of a pretty ‘dam, red blond hair tied up in knot at the base of her skull. The family braids and betrothal braids hung on both sides of her smiling face. She was quite beautiful, apple cheeked with a dimple at the corners of full lips. This Dwarrowdam was more than what could make a Dwarf cast his eyes from his wife and turn traitor to his King. Olrun, daughter of Tarag, curtsied without a stumble, bowing her head in the process. Kili was able to understand the knot finally as it was a wave of red gold curls banded with plaits then pinned with steel rather than some precious metal. A water construction. The Dwarrowdam was the betrothed of the Captain of Erebor’s guards but her allegiance was to the Athane.

Unsure how he felt about so brazen a display of happy smiles, Kili bowed in greeting. “Vermu, Azbad Olrun. I have heard from many that you were fair, for once, the gossips were correct. It is a shame that your welcoming to this Delf has been met with such havoc. However, I would offer my congratulations to your claiming a fine Dwarrow as you have in this son of Fundin.”

Dwalin stiffened at the mention of Dain but his betrothed merely raised an eyebrow. The full spectrum of her grin never dimmed, still a rainbow of joy. “I thank you most sincerely. When shall we have the pleasure of meeting the Princess? I had heard she resides in Lothlorien during these troubles.”

Kili did some stiffening of his own, not liking the cold feel of the title in regards to Tauriel. “Yậsithu men is indeed staying with the Elves at this time.” Fili drew away from Sigrid in a clatter of metal, pulling Kili from the pair and any addition conversation. “Do excuse me, please. I would speak with my near sister before we depart.”

He left them hastily, not waiting any further talk of Tauriel. Dwalin had said nothing to Kili’s new status nor had many of the others, that didn’t mean he wanted to divulge his plan before speaking with Fili. Oin, Ori, Burin and Nori had spoken to him, offering felicitations with Bifur in the way of his hand signals, taking the assumption that the fight was why she was in Lorien woods. Yet, Gloin and Gimli in particular became suddenly deaf or interested in some leaflet of paper to commenting on his braids. His leg twanged with pain at the abrupt movement, annoying him further. If they didn’t wish to speak of Tauriel, he would let that lay. He respected the Dwarves he had known all his life but Tauriel was his love and his future.

He didn’t see Dis until the last minute, walking with Bofur and Bifur in her wake. The somber charcoal grey gave her heavy black hair a lighter cast, or more white shot through the dark mass then before. The cut of her gown was plain with a girdle of silver mail in overlay down the waist. A short spear doubled as a walking stick, reminding him of times in Ered Luin she had welded such a weapon with deadly force. The long bladed end was a slender with a long double edge for maximum damage. His Amad didn’t see him or the long months of his journey didn’t bring him readily to her mind for her to look for her youngest. In any case, Fili stood apart from Sigrid, giving her one last kiss then stepping away.  

Fili nodded to him as he walked from the promenade in the direction of the Great Gates with Balin, Bofur and Bifur behind him. Dis took a step towards him when she marked him there but something on his face stopped her. Their relationship was breaking like an egg shell, making him wish it wasn’t so. He was still her son, and she the first face he remembered over his cradle. The distance would be harder to bear if Fili was not so in favor of his marriage and the pleasure it had brought him. The idea of settling in the hall that his brother had shown him was not entertained, not for a moment. Their lives would chart a different course.

Gannar was speaking rapidly with the Lady Eir to one side and Ori just behind her. The chief scribe would accompany them with the Ladies staying upon the balcony. Dwalin took the Lady Olrun aside for a private moment before he left. The Royal Guards would follow at the ready, Kili could hear the clang of their weapons and booted heels as they descended down the barracks hall.

Touching Sigrid’s arm gently, Kili spoke. “Worry not for him. I will allow no harm to befall your husband. He was my brother before he was my King and then your mate. He will live to the gray hair your bairns have in store him.”

Sigrid grabbed a braid at the side of his head, the family braid as he could still feel the weight of the others unencumbered. Her lip trembled to pair with watery eyes. “I could never worry for him with you at his side. But have a care for yourself, near brother. You have just been restored to us, Mahal could not be so unkind as to unmake you to stone.”

“Gods have us at their mercy, near sister.” Kili tried to smile but a grimace twisted his lips as she released him.

Oin and his wife took Sigrid then, helping her mount the stairs to the upper floor to watch the proceedings. Burin and the other guards followed behind the children, trooping in a line of importance. So many Dwarrowdams gathered together, many he could not name, all wearing the water construction and some with braids plaited closer to the skull in a waves of rolling hair. The Mountain had finally accepted their Athane, it had only taken six years for it to come to pass.

Fili took the ornate helm from Dwalin at Kili’s approach, placing it over his head. Open faced with a ring of golden spikes, his face was clearly seen. A gold curtain of mail covered the backing to give additional protection to a Dwarrow’s vulnerable neck. He was ready, he was kingly and to Kili, he was the most important person in the situation that they found themselves.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer Orcrist?” Kili asked as Fili shouldered their father’s axe.

“No. The axe is a symbol of our people.” He smirked a little as he took the first step into the Grand Entrance. “Besides, what good is a King’s Justice who carries no weapon?”

Dwalin smirked in turn with a mirrored expression, the two frustratingly similar. Kili snorted as they walked to the Gates in the loud scrape of thick boot upon stone. Dwarves made way for them, many stepping around others to join formation of guards who arrived from the upper barrack hall. The Marketplace was closed, a dark cavern to his right that bore no light save for the odd lantern and torch.

The Gates were open wide with crowds of Dwarves in clumps about the causeway. Crafters, jewelers, many of the deep miners were there, telling Kili that the shafts were closed and probably the forges too. Erebor was a large community, taking the whole of the Mountain at different levels almost as far deep as to come out the other side of the world. An entire nation awaited their Thane, each face turned to him for comfort in a time of anxiety and fear.

By the heath that spread out in brown skirts, among the barren crags the company lined up behind their king. It was a solitary moment as all talk died off with the wind. Three companies of guards trouped out from the Great Gates, pressing back the Dwarves as they lined up behind Dwalin on his signal. Fili walked to the lead, slinging his axe upon a shoulder. He looked over the faces before him each at a time, then placed a hand upon his chest to sink to one knee in humble subservience. He was their King, acknowledged and claimed.

The populous roared their approval, pounding their support into the rock as he rose to his feet again. The thunder echoed down the plain to the awaiting Iron Dwarves so that they understood the Mountain blessed their King this day. Fili turned at last to walk away to the Umli and Stiffbeards who had staggered themselves in equal rows to their left and right. Kili trudged in the sinking mire, gripping Orcrist hilt and wishing with each stride that it was a bow. A shaft for the Ironfoot or tow just two just to make it interesting. The arbiters were the peace keepers, they would be in charge of keeping the blood from the rock.

Between them and the sounders, the Umli and Stiffbeards had set a long table and benches. The point of it was for a discussion, not a fight, at least not yet. A truce would have some conversation, some bartering and a little bit of haggle. The charter that Fili had drawn together would be handed to Dain for him to understand the faith that his King had in preserving Durin’s folk to another generation.

The ground was churned and mudded from so many active feet in the frost coated morning. The Umli industriously removed every article of belonged to them, racing their sleds and possessions to Ravenhill before returning to the Vale. Their presence before the mountain was marked only at the patches of burnt earth and sod where a campfire might have been. Animal droppings and other offal were conserved to be mixed with the mulch at the stable in what Balin believed to be a better formula for fertilizer than what was currently employed. The Stiffbeards had no tolerance for waste of any sort, developing any refuse to a practical application.

The trampled earth was a little slippery but the push of the company and others prevented him from falling. One of the guard companies stayed behind for crowd control with the remaining two at the end of their group. Nori and Dori soldiered on with two Dwarves he knew not, the warrior ‘dam in battle dress armor. Vidgis and her father, Olgr, he was told by Ori at his side. Most enlightening this Dwarrowdam had been, educating his brother and Dwalin. She didn’t ride a pig as the others might but carried a pike, steel tipped as one of a sounder did. Kili wondered if she regretted now their actions, or if Olrun wished for a different outcome.

They crossed the Vale in quick strides, none having taken a mount. Kili thought it must have been the same when Thorin had charged from the Great Gates to join the others in the Great Battle. It had been irrational, at any road. Hundreds against hundreds of thousands of enemies gathered under the Pale Orc himself. East and West had come together to decide the fate of their future. It was the day Thorin had waited for all his life. To take back the halls of his fathers, then defend it against a great enemy, he must have fair pissed himself with excitement. The greatest honor any Dwarf can ever achieve is to live with great courage, and to die with his folk, in battle for his home.

Kili remember the sound of metal and breaking wood from his rooms. The hard stone of Erebor couldn’t wall off so much death and screams. Fili had sat by his side, their father’s axe across his knees to guard and hold so much as he could if the Mountain was overrun. There had been little hope that the erstwhile allies would hold the line or that the truce might hold after the battle. Unable to walk, Kili had finally shoved his brother from the room on the second day. A knife at his side and a full quiver by the bed, he would take as many with him if need be. But that was long ago, years beyond him. The present was no gift and like his time in the bed then, he knew not how the day would end.

The rise to the east bore the strength of Akkâ Belkulu Dain-Uzbad with Dain at the fore. Arranged by sounder, their formation consisted of any number that still survived if Visdis and Verdandi’s intelligence was correct. No more than eight and no less than four, upwards of fifty Abkarul Hakhd in full armor awaited them. They had no need for more than that, a single sounder was known to rip apart the most structured Orc or Easterling band.

Dressed in full attack plate, the serrated tips glinted in hungry sharpness from the boars’ mouths with looped chains across the bridge of their nose to hold them in place. Each Dwarf was arrayed the same in war mail and long pikes in one hand in the other a hammer or mattock. Their helms were flatter than any, broad to hold the hard head but sculpted and curved down to the cheeks. There was no ornament to them, no flash feeling of parade. These warriors were here to do their business and be the hammer of their King.

Dain kept the horrors from them, rode his hog to war for them. However, it was in his experience that chickens on the chopping block don’t call the butcher Deliverer for keeping the fox at bay. Stonehelm did not agree with the course they yet sailed. If Balin was right and there was such a thing as diplomacy, it must be rich stuff indeed, a velvet glove that cloaks the fist of power. So if the fist makes contact with the Ironfoot traitor, it should have every ounce of strength possible to knock him on his ass.

Four of Dain’s commanders sat mounted on large goat steeds behind his position. Large and powerful, the goats would travel longer than the boars but without the temperamental natural of ponies. The closer they walked the more deadly they seemed. There were few of this breed in the Iron Hills, the Iron Dwarves preferring the boars. For these to have been so mounted, they had to have been moving at speed. These Dwarrows knew the King’s Justice was something dangerous, something different. Kili could see no fear behind their helms as he was recognized and marked. Heads swiveled in his direction at a swift angle with hands tightening on sword hilts or axe handles in grim determination.

Dain rode his pig with the same upright carriage as a Man would, all the weight in the ass. Vigdis had been most vocal, according to Fili, about that particular boar. She told of how it was the only piglet to survive a vicious gilt. Dain had nursed it from birth, letting it sleep in his quarters and sometimes his bed. Kili could understand the affection for a pet but the grizzled animal was a weakness to the Ironfoot.

A clarion call of high tuned horns broke the morning air, a different pitch from the ravens that flew overhead. To the south from the Overlook, a lone rider galloped upon a sweat covered horse to the back of the Stiffbeard lines. They parted like a broken rock to allow passage to the new arrival. The movement startled the Ravens up in the clouds. A few dove low to swoop and caw at the lone horseman whose grey robes and conical hat separated him from the black rocks and scrub grass. He slowed the animal to lope, allow the hard pressed gelding to cool as he neared their company. When he reached them, an Umli took the gelding away as Gandalf approached.

“It is done, Fili Baknul.” The words were almost drowned out by another blast of what Kili had to assume was Elven horns. The name given to his brother had spread like wildfire, each Dwarf tasting the name and liking the flavor.

There was a smile on his lips as the Wizard turned back the way he came to see a long line of Elven archers to the left of a tall figure mounted upon a large white stallion. Their acorn helms were the same shape as was the Gondorian dress though with leaves rather than the winged expressions of their Numenorean relatives. Just as tall as a Man though at a distance, they looked to be a green wall of gold sparkling spires in the early morning light. Their leader was just as imposing. His stallion was not the battle Elk but was larger than a normal steed, clapped in leaf shaped plate across the chest to gather at its withers. Long white blond hair fluttered in the breeze that skirted the rise to the south, his armor was the steeled water of flesh tight metal. Thranduil, Elven King of Greenwood the Great had come.

On the right, a line of Men in glittering mail, Dwarven mail refitted to their taller stature. Broader through the chest than their counterparts, they stood behind four Men on horseback, one of whom was a blood red chestnut of clean Rohir lines. Leather and metal covered vulnerable skin as they looked down upon the assembled. Kili knew the four horsemen, not because he could see their faces but their mounts were so distinct. The two Elves and Dorlad with Dain at the end closest to Thranduil. Dale’s soldiers lined Thranduil’s right but it was their Prince that led them instead of their King.

“Where’s Bard?” Kili asked in confusion for he had no idea of these goings on.

“King Bard was unable to attend.” Gandalf turned to the scowling Dwarf to his right. “He sent his son, Prince Bain to ride with the Elven King. Hail and well met to you, Dain Ironfoot. I trust you do not mind witnesses to this conference. The more eyes that see means less corruption of the facts in later years.”

The Ironfoot ground his teeth, annoyed as he keep flashing looks to the far hillock where the Elves and Men stood. What plans he concocted for this day, having witnesses, impartial or not ruined them completely. Looking around, he could see that those from Erebor, Thorin’s company, his Amad, as well as the guard were all on foot. Tactically an error if Dain had decided to run them down with the spiked tusks of the boar sweeping the field.

Fili didn’t wait for Dain, foregoing his privilege as King to give the arbiters first say. He walked to the table, taking a bench on one side. “Gamut manan, Dain son of Nain son of Gror. Shall there be truth between us, as two Dwarves? Not as friends or family, but as enemies; equal just now in Mahal’s eye?”

Dain dismounted, looking around at the company of Thorin Oakenshield who stood at Fili’s back in straight even lines. To guards who stood at their backs, ever after. He had to know that the company would not follow him, the Ironfoot _had_ to see his folly. No matter how many stood upon this field to bear witness, judge or argue the point: one thing was clear. The Ironfoot could not quit the field with any type of victory.

“I’ve only ever been a King of the Iron Hills. Yet this day, I treat with ye, laddie. And let it all be done ‘afore the rest.” He dropped his large hammer on the table with a bang, clattering the steel on wood in a foul note to harmonize with the constant jingle of so many knives down his front. What thought could have possessed him to sheathe ten knives at the chest of his person?

They settled down before the other once the greetings were exchanged in more formal terms, two Dwarrows that favored little. Too many generations and other blood had mingled in their respective branches to say they were related outside of their nose. The bulbous hooter was the same each against Fili’s sunset beard and Dain’s brushfire. Bais took a position at one end with Glorin at the other.

Gandalf, out of breath still from his hard ride in the morning, walked to Bais’ side to look down the table at the two kings with the sun bright upon his right side. All through the wizard's journeys, fascinating stories had fallen like snow. He was as full of them as a library with unmarked shelves. He was a talking book those life had stretched back longer than any memory present. Seeing him here made Kili regret his harshness days before.

The conversation began with a basic assentation of the rights of a Dwarrow, the natural law that they possessed their lives to go as they will. Dain’s responses swung back and forth to a bare width of keeping the higher trained Dwarves as chattel. The Ironfoot couldn’t grasp the precedent of slavery as being wrong, seeing the males as a resource rather than living breathing _thinking_ beings that were worthy of respect.

Thorin Stonehelm’s name was brought up, with Dain turning to motion him forward. The boar the Stonehelm rode was a massive thing though not so large as his father’s. Fili changed Dain’s tactic of blood to a question of right due to his mother, Dis, was the daughter of Thrain and the last holder of a ring of power. The Ironfoot countered with Thrain’s loss of the ring and his madness, stating that the metal of Thror was weak to have dwindled down to useless ore that preferred other races to wife rather than the mighty Dwarrowdams of Khazad. Better that the sons of Dis had died in the Great Battle than disgrace their folk with half blood children.

The last comment struck a nerve in Umli who groused in the sidelines, their blood as mixed as any child of Fili or Kili’s could be. Gandalf banged his staff on the table to quiet the crowd and gain their attention. It would not do for the peace keepers to be so effused with anger before the day was over.

“The view changes from where you are standing. A Lord may move a person, a King can move someone further. A conqueror can devastate a land without understanding how hard it was for the farmer to watch it grow. A man of wisdom sees the moth and watches it flutter into the distance.” The grey Pilgrim’s voice was soothing as if to sing them to sleep in a lullaby woven of tales long ago. It was a gift, he rarely used but when Gandalf did, he was most powerful. “The question to you is which will you be this day, a conqueror bent on destruction or a wise Man who sees the world for what it is?”

Dain thrashed from his seating, knocking away the charter that Fili had opened before them. “Ye forget ye’rself, Wizard. I am no Man, nor am I ye’r pawn! Ply ye’r tales and lies to the race of Man and leave the nation of Khazad to its own fate!”

Gandalf clenched his staff at the outburst, many of the company took a step forward as if to advance. Kili broke away from the company to edge closer to the table. Boron didn’t stop him but paced him on his far side. He watched with careful scrutiny that the King’s Justice walked no further. Fili still sat with an unruffled mien of general laziness. He was far enough away from the table that he could fall back if the Ironfoot swung his hammer at him, hopefully the mail would stop any of those ill wrought knives before Kili could shield him.

“We make children and wealth and amass land and build halls and assemble armies and give great feasts, but only one thing survives us.” Fili said in a mild voice. The king already knew the answer as did they all. “Reputation, what is sung in the halls of our fathers. ..what song will be sung of Dain Ironfoot? Durin’s folk? A degenerate who chased his own cousin’s skirts instead of his wife’s.”

Dain’s mouth worked in anger, chewing on his tongue to hold back the screaming at Fili. He was right, of course, the meeting so far had been the prelude. The real question was how Dain saw himself, if he did at all for the acts he had committed so far and just how far he would go. The arbiters had forced him to send home his siege equipment but would he destroy the Mountain for a woman? Did his lusts root so deeply?

“It’s one thing to turn the other cheek, but to lie down in the ground like a snake and crawl toward the seat of power in abject surrender, but to swallow insults on me person? That’s quite another thing.” Dain stood from the bench abruptly, stirring the Umli to circle the table to keep order. “And I’ve no stomach for it! No stomach at all!”

Kili walked into their mist to stand at Fili’s shoulder, ignoring Boron completely now. The farce had been revealed and the stupidity of Dain’s actions could not be swept away. Kili knew him not, had no real memories of this Dwarf before the Great Battle. So as a result, he felt no reason to hold back for he cared little for the Ironfoot’s feelings.

“You put yourself forward as a postulant of the Mountain throne, like your treason is in fact a legal outcome to the events leading up to you marching against your family… to steal your blooded cousin from her betrothed to warm your bed.” Kili spat at him, disgusted all at once at the hypocrisy of the day so far.

The shifting at his back, concerned him not at all for Kili’s attention was squarely on the Dwarf before him. One never gave a target to an Orc unless he wished to sit in the Halls of Waiting. He had called attention to himself, now he would take the brunt of the blows rather than his brother. It was an interesting gambit if it worked.

Dain chuckled at Kili but almost ignoring him at the same time as he took to his stool once more. “Careful there, laddie. You'll never sing the same sweet song if ye teeth ain’t your own.”

Kili grinned a fiercely, showing two rows of strong whites. He tucked a forearm close to his hilt just in case. “Look to yourself, old boar. You’re getting a little long in the tooth to make a run at me.”

“Well, aren’t ye half the cheeky bastard.” The Ironfoot laced his fingers together over his belly as if in a comfortable repose. “Think ya got sand because ye mounted a tree shagger and she claimed ye for pity?”

Just to goad the Iron Dwarf, Kili walked to the table until his legs pressed into the wood. Fili shifted his axe to his other side in case there was a fight. “I know I got the sand, because I have an arrow with your name on it. A black fletched arrow, to be sure.”

“The Oakenshield did no’ well by ye, lad. No’ well by half.” The russet Dwarf got out of his stool to lean into Kili’s face. “He should’ve given o’er the flame haired cunt to a Dwarf that knows how to mount one properly rather than let her run off to the woods.”

The King’s Justice lunged across the table at the Ironfoot, his crass words enflaming him to the last. The snarking face of the redhead Dwarf begged to have his fist planted as hard as possible in his sewer of a mouth. He never made the leap, Boron suddenly at his side to hold his torso in a strong grip with Fili placing a hand on Kili’s chest. Dain continued to heap insults upon Kili though the white rage clogged his ears to them.

Boron sneered at the Ironfoot, struggling to hold Kili from him. “My wife is a member of the Ice Dancer clan, Elves of the Forowaithe. I think no less for him to look and find beauty in the Woodland clans than I think more of you for your disrespect. You are beardless with shame, Dain son of Nain.”

“ _I_ think I’ll be on me way. There is no more I wish to hear.” Dain strutted a few feet then stopped and turned. The grin was as malicious as any Orc he had claimed to kill. “Oh.. I forgot one thing. Since my cousin will not be given back to me, I will take my soldier instead.” The great belly laugh on the Dwarf was a hideous thing, even as he drew a deep breath to bellow out to the surrounding crowd. “VIGDIS, DAUGHTER OF OLGR. Stand for your Thane!”

“ _No_!.... Wait!” Fear pushed Olgr from the ranks but two of the Umli blocked him. Shock rippled through the mass like a rock thrown into a pond at what Dain might do to her.

He thrashed in their hands as Vigdis walked forward to the plain. A father’s fear, trueborn and healthy, was a powerful thing, yet never so much that it could overthrow two Umli that had the same weight and six inches on him. Kili growled at the Dwarf in agreement, dragging Boron three steps until he was stopped by Bais herself. The calm on her face was foreign compared to the flirtiest glances she threw to him last night.

“Glorin, my old friend.” Dain chortled in a happy lint. The woman spooled her fingers, curling into Kili’s surcoat to hold him fast as the sound of Dain’s hissing laugh almost made him iced with fury. “I can’t think of a law in our history that would prevent a Thane from taking back one who has pledged service to his court?”

Glorin looked sour but shook his head. The disposition didn’t clear as he looked to the Ironfoot. “There is none. As a subordinate to the Iron Court, she is _yours_ to do what you will.”

Olgr broke free, running to his daughter who looked nigh sick of the proceedings. Dwalin tackled him to the ground, pinning Olgr there as he screamed at his daughter with outstretched hands. Bofur too was restraining Nori who twisted and squirmed in his grasp. At the distance, Kili could see the young Dwarrowdam’s face crumple and she take a step to her Adad only to have Dain bellow her name once more. The poor female flinched at the rolling noise but made no further advance to her father on the ground. Disciple would have been ingrained into her as a member of a sounder, her first instinct would be follow Dain no matter her heart’s wish to go to her father.

Fili snarled fiercely, kicking aside his bench to rise in wild anger. He shook the axe at Dain to all but scream. “I am _his_ Thane! I _command_ him, and I say, he should give up his claim to Vigdis.”

Thorin son of Dain broke away from the group, and dismounted to walk to rioting conference. The sounders chattered like magpies at the bellowing but held their formation. Thorin’s boar snorted and stamped at the assembled in his master absence. The cuff startled the goat steeds to shift and undulate further to their left in a wave of nervous fur and thickened hooves. The large heads with their curved horns shook in a rattle of harness as their eyes blew wide in alarm. Not known to be the best in battle, they were a poor choice of mount for this meeting.

“Her allegiance was always to me, _Thane_ , as a rider to _my_ sounder. It was never to you! At this point, I do not recognize you as the leader of Durin's Folk!”

Boron let loose his grip to step away as a field of grey flooded Kili’s side. Dis stepped into him with a worried expression that cautioned him to silence. Vigdis would suffer in Dain’s hands, like Tauriel would have suffered without others to check him. Dis didn’t understand the history here, nor Kili’s anger if she couldn’t comprehend his marriage. She was his Amad, but they were on opposite sides to this argument while supporting Fili against the Ironfoot.

Thorin Stonehelm looked just as angry as Fili but took a step, then another to take Vigdis’ arm. The son of the Ironfoot looked over her shoulder to Dwalin and Olgr. “She is my blood, no harm shall come to her.”

“Now, now, laddie.” His father fair purred to the amassed Dwarves before turning his back and walking away. “Make no commitments that ye canna keep. She’ll be getting _reacquainted_ with our riders until her aunt is given over.”

Olgr continued to yell at the gathering from his pinned position, screaming for Dain’s head. It took two more of the Stiffbeards to restrain the frantic father with both Bombur and Gloin striding together with Gimli behind them. They were fathers as well, concerned at the any for what might befall a child of their blood. The Ironfoot’s sly innuendo was an insult and a clear jab at Olrun who would be hysterical as her brother for her niece’s safety. She would no doubt do much save her family, one of the reasons they were all here save Vigdis’ brother.

“I issue to you a formal challenge, Dain Ironfoot, avowed traitor to your clan!” Fili yelled at the retreating back. “May the Great Smith decide the outcome and who has the right to sit the Mountain Throne!”

The declaration stopped Dain, the surprise stuck him in the mud with fast fingers. Dis gave a short cry of alarm beside Kili, her hand going to his arm as her short blunt fingers dug into the leather. Bofur took a step even with Dis at her other side with Nori at his elbow. They had not known that the challenge was a possibility, for there had been none in their long history.

Turning, his bright beard couldn’t hid his shock. “You would place your title on the ending? The winner is now the King under the Mountain?”

“Aye!”

There is always a choice, even if the alternatives don't appear to be equal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this twice. The first time I took out a thousandish words and thought, yes these work better in chptr 65 (Tauriel meets the mirror).. rewrote.. then thought.. huh.. this 800 words would work better in chptr 66 (the actual fight).. rewrite rewrite.. this isn't the largest chapter but damn it feels like it..


	65. Chapter 65

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes on the rarest nights  
>  comes the vision calm and clear,  
>  gleaming with unearthly lights  
>  on our path of doubt and fear.  
>  Winds from that far land are blown, whispering with secret breath--  
>  hope that plays a tune alone,  
>  love that conquers pain and death.
> 
> ~Ivor Novello - The Land of Might Have Been ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Galadriel invites Tauriel to look into the Mirror....

 

 

The river was wild this day. The melting snows to the north swelled the current to brawl with the rocky margent to carve new inlets from an otherwise indifferent beach. Silt and other vegetative mire would root here, giving new life to the spring crops that would be planted soon. The world renews as if yester year was a single heartbeat, an exhale and just as fleeting.

When she was quiet and the forest life didn’t intrude too far, Tauriel’s thoughts always turned to Kili. Her husband being away from her was harder than she anticipated. Tauriel needed him like the air in her lungs and the touch to keep her grounded in life. She could not travel to him, only dream of a time when he was in her arms again. It left her hoarding her sleep like a miser and feeding in quantity now that their child had settled to growing rather than agitating her stomach. It was a quiet time, peaceful and each still moment she longed for husband. Tauriel would never hold anger for him going but the days had stretched into weeks and she missed him savagely.

Gilesgal and Flandif grazed not far from her position so late in the day, protective as they could be. Two of the Fintonarki nannies had joined their femininity, grazing on the high grass. Their fluffy bodies patched in browns and blacks upon a white foundation was a startling blend to the black and brown mares. The two horses accepted the goats into their family, careful of their smaller stature and wary of the curled horns that were level to their bellies. The Elves had found it amusing, watching all five of them trouping out to the meadows in the early sunlight.

The horses had been most unsettled since Thranduil’s appearance, Flandif never wondering away more than a few feet. Tauriel had spent the night in the shaded glen during the Elven King’s visit surrounded by her mares and their warmth. Their enclosure were comprised of saplings bowed and woven to make a natural arbor against the harsher temperatures. She was not affected due to her Elven nature, yet the animals’ comfort was soothing to her raw nerves. Tauriel would make a pallet in the back with Flandif or Gilesgal’s body before her as a shield. The other would stand nearby, awake and aware.

The mares had taken to greeting her belly by snorting and rubbing their large heads to one side. The slope of her body curved as evidence of her little one’s presence. There was the greeting song each day, the carol of happiness from within herself. So many months and she wondered when her child would begin to speak rather than sing to her. There could be no naming until she learned her child’s sex and the emotions balanced between them to judge what manner of spirit it would possess. As in all things, it would happen in its own due course, yet Tauriel knew that she would bear her newling longer than what would be a normal Elven pregnancy.

Newling, she thought, a term that the healers used when they touched upon her child. It was an endearment for a babe born of two races but wouldn’t be one or the other. Elves acknowledge the biracial nature to celebrate the life that had formed, though her babe could not be called an Elf or a Dwarf.

All morning, she struggled with the sensation of stray wisps of one world seeping through the cracks of another. Her life before and her life now were at odds, violently clashing to make something both new and altogether different. Staying with the Silvans in Caras Galadhron might have been a mistake, Tauriel could feel herself sinking back into the old thoughts of life. The maudlin issues of mortality had not reached her in Mirkwood, nor very many here in Lorien. Old patterns of behavior reestablished themselves though the divide was not so harsh between Silvan and Sindarin as it was the Greenwood. Silvans were encouraged to expand, explore life to feel what it had to offer.

Tauriel looked at her life, reviewing it as she sat on a rock to watch the stream race by. The years among the Rohirrim had been exhilarating, a frantic blush of life just like the Anduin before her. There was a goal to them, an end point to their struggle. Running a hand over her belly, her child would have that same expectancy. There would be a beginning and the end for the babe, no sewn lines that would weave their child to the Valar. The Dwarves didn’t value the starlight, it wouldn’t enthrall as it did the Elves, in admiration and purity. Concerns of what her children might forego, of what they may not learn of her culture in Eren Luin dogged her thinking. Kili said that they would find acceptance there, their child would know happiness and safety. But what was the cost of it?

A birth is not really a beginning. All lives at the start are not solely the possession of the living but the continuation of the parent's story. No matter their degree in life, parents are more ambitious for their offspring then they ever were for themselves. The hopes of an Elf were not the same as might be found in a Dwarven holdfast, the childhood songs of trees and white light offensive to those who craved the press of stone. But she would try and so would Kili, Tauriel knew to help their babe find their happiness as they had found theirs.

“I will love you still more, my young one, for all that you are and will become.” Tauriel spoke quietly to the bump at her middle, rubbing a hand over the green gown. “Your life will be as full as your nana…and..”

“Adad.” A voice drifted to her, soft as the breast of a dove.

Tauriel whipped around on the rock to Arwen come from the trees to her side. The Evenstar was a vision this night, silver and dark blue robes billowed around her ankles. A silver circles of high Elven artistry graced her brow, disappearing in her long ebony hair. There was a gentle smile on her face that was a reflection of Arwen’s soul. The high Elf was everything that was pure and good upon this Middle Earth, worthy of the desperate precautions her father employed.

“Greetings to you, Arwen Undomiel. Forgive me, I was most lax to not hear your approach.” The Silvan took to her feet beside the rocks, gesturing in welcome. “If I may ask, how might you have learned Khudzul? I thought it was forbidden to all that did not reside in a delving.” Tauriel asked in confusion.

The daughter of Elrond waived in turn. “Speaking to your newling is a private matter, I should not have interrupted. Let us walk for a distance? The healers swear it is necessary for women who will bring forth life.” The lady joined her at the rock but indicated a level track parallel to the spring. “Ada is of the opinion that all knowledge is worth having. Dwarves are a part of life here, so the knowledge isn’t wasted.”

Of course Lord Elrond would know, imparting his wisdom to his children in the event there was a need. The passages in Moria opened to both sides of the Misty Mountains, trading with both clans of the fair folk would have benefited the shrewd children of Mahal. Kili had spoken that Lord Elrond had been friendly and there too, so had the daughter of his house. If there were grudges against the Dwarves, Rivendell was impartial to it.

“How do you fair?” Arwen asked in the same serene tone as they glided across the foot path. “Glawareth has concerns still.”

Tauriel fought a rude sound, it would be most unseemly before the Undomiel. When last she visited the healer just after the Ruler of the Mirkwood arrived, Glawareth assumed she would slip her child and lose it due to volatile emotions. Silvans were known to lose children early, unable to restrain their transient natures. But Tauriel had not, in fact, her child thrived and grew stronger. There had been some mutterings from the other healers about the father’s blood being stronger than hers in the child, that the stubborn vigor of the Naugrim that helped.

The lights began to twinkle from the branches as the long day lets loose its grip and the slow moon made for it’s single-minded zenith. A pale Nimrech burst from the underbrush, his dark streaked mane flying behind him. Flandif screamed a warning as did Gilesgal but the two goats jumped between them when Flandif charged. Her mare waived off to race to Tauriel’s side with Gilesgal behind her, neither liking the new arrival.

Arwen stepped away to hold out her hand to the large pale horse that checked his speed to come to her outstretched hand. Like her mares, the gelding would walk in Arwen’s wake, a companion to both guard and give her comfort. The dark Elf rubbed down the bowed neck, speaking softly in Quenya to his ear. Tauriel could see him shooting glances to the mares beside her pawing the ground. He had no amorous intentions, not like Warg had with Flandif. Seeking only to protect his mistress, he followed at her back when she returned.

“My apologies. He tends to break out and join me when he knows that I am away from the trees.” Arwen giggled a little, a bird’s twitter to couple with the blush that sailed across her cheeks. “I think your mares are much more anxious since the Elven King’s arrival.”

“Yes, my lady, Flandif and Gilesgal are more protective now than before.” Tauriel sighed as she ran a hand long Gilesgal’s flank. “I have not thanked the marchwardens for their intervention.”

Arwen pulled her cloak closer about her as she continued to walk. The light caught the white jewel at the center of her pendant, casting a bright glow from her ivory throat. “They know. Thranduil’s name has a long history here.”

They walked together in silence with the autumn color of evening painting the sky in burnish hue. The horses found a pace and distance after a few squeals and stamping but they too settled as the group wondered the banks of the river to the burled knees of the old rooted trees. This part of the forest reminded Tauriel of Mirkwood and olden times. Years beyond the scope of Man when the forest she knew were clearer for lack of spiders and danger. The trees were not so wild as Fangorn, nor as angry as their seedlings to the south.

“The Lady of Light would speak with you, Mellon.” Arwen walked a space before continuing. “She has a concern and would express it since the healers are sure that you are strong enough to make the journey.”

Tauriel stopped suddenly, the mares cuffing at her side. “What journey? I didn’t realize that I would be leaving the Golden Wood.”

The Silvan tried to keep the worry from her at the thought of being turned away. Her behavior with the Elven King, Lord Celeborn’s indifference must have eroded her welcome. The crash of fear and anxiety of some passage away, to a place where Kili might not find her pulverized her conscious mind. She could not go to Dale, nor Erebor, not with a war in evidence. If only she had not promised Oakenshield nor let fear bind herself so tightly to the oath. It was a hard thing to bear an oath, made by starlight, yet another to give so much leave to rule her life these last six years.

Tauriel knew her integrity had taken a beating when she left Mirkwood, abandoning her King for Kili, a Dwarf she barely knew. There was no aside, no excuse for her actions save that she couldn’t let her love fall into Darkness. Legolas while for his own sake, had charged with her, the Silvans thought her faithless and an exile. There had been enough ill looks at Rivendell for her Dwarven braids from members of her clan who lived there. Tauriel had bore it but having the Undomiel’s friendship had made it easier to face.

Arwen grabbed her shoulders, seeing the turmoil on the Silvan’s face. “No, no, Mellon, NO! That was not the intent and I apologize for myself. It is a journey of the mind, the Lady Galadriel would have you look into the Mirror.”

Tauriel jerked under her hands for it was not their way to touch outside of family. It was a departure for the highborn Elf, a personage of careful opinions and quiet discourse. The Lady Arwen cared much for her years ago and now just the same. The concern written on her face and in her voice was genuine, the same feeling of warmth that her father, Lord Elrond, imbued. Her brothers bore a wilder sense, however, but gentle of a grieving Silvan. It was an oddity, a tribute to the changing world they found themselves. If the Evenstar might change, the rest of their kind might as well.

Taking a deep breath, Tauriel looked for peace to center herself. The instant clang of her child’s worry brought a sense of shame at her loss of control. “I apologize for my outburst. That I am welcome here, an Edledhron, in the Golden Wood has been a most unexpected blessing. If the Lady Galadriel would have me look into the Mirror, then I shall.”

The strength in her demeanor belied the sinking pit of her stomach as the last of the day faded to indigo night. The restlessness while less than the anxiety of earlier plagued the Silvan as they continued upon a graveled stone path. She wondered at the Lady of Lorien. Tauriel would never be covetous of her magic, preferring her life as a mother, wife and guardian. The Lady Galadriel liked secrets and secret things, hiding behind an enigmatic smile of a stoic Elf. She let mysteries bleed into her shadows and leaving others to ask whether they originated from another place or from their own imaginations.

The small glowing dots of distant stars winked at her, splendid chorus of greeting. The moon had rolled out and soared, huge and round with an escort of veiling clouds in its wake, spilling a cascade of white blinding light on the winter dead plain. She would soak in that iridescent glow until it shone from her eyes and sang a long song about hunting and running through the wood. That was what was good in life, to love free and live just as free. Like the Mirkwood, the cold of the darkness didn’t settle at the roots of the trees with the wide canopies lacing together to shield their charges below.

Here, a copse of trees grew into each other, a ring of wood and stone. There in the barked hollows of twisted roots, a lighted statue of a hooded Elleth welcomed the weary with a bladed mate in the next bend. The horses and goats fell to the lower meadow, leaving Tauriel and Arwen to make for the font that sprinkled Tauriel’s skin with the Valar’s own magic. The stone path rounded into a glade, sheltered by the spired oak to protect, defend. It was a safe harbor and a last retreat.

“There is much you will see.” The Lady of Lorien walked from a nook Tauriel’s senses had not found to stand before the damping stream that flowed from earth into a waterfall. “The Mirror shows things for what they are because of what was and how it affects what is to come.”

“What shall I see in the Mirror?” Tauriel asked as Arwen took a seat on the far side of the glade.

“Your destiny, but I will guide you. A my gift to you, Tauriel of Ered Luin.” Galadriel smiled as the Silvan started at the reference. “Yes, I know that you leave for the Dwarven delving. The young Dwarf prince has wisdom to temper his exuberance.”

The Lady drew the water as it rushed out of Tauriel’s sight to feed into the rest of the forest. The crush of Elven magic beat into her ears, roaring awe and wonderment. Like in Fangorn, the water was both life giving and magical to feed into the wood’s power. Galadriel caught it into a silver ewe to be poured into the dull oval into the center of a stone fountain.

A relic of a different time and another place. The Mirror was a wellspring that might enlighten as it destroyed. Only the strongest could take in the visions, to see what might happen and not be filled with all the emotions that Elves tried to control and ignore. The fear of what she might see was a solid stone in her belly. She watched the currents of the water and understood it was peeling away time, showing her years ago and maybe years in the future.

The first scene that came clear was one of her nightmares.

The horrible room with Thorin, Dain and the others. The awful bargain she had struck with a crazed King for their survival. But there were differences here than in her memory, an immovable shadow that crouched in the corner. _Bilbo_. The Hobbit had been there, seen it all with his fist stuffed in his mouth to stifle the sounds. Tears slid down his smooth cheeks while he watched, even Balin’s face from that time was more distinct now. The despair on the old Dwarf’s face moved her more than she had thought it might. He had not wanted this, could not bear to watch what was happening to his King. She had worn that same expression in her years in Mirkwood, Tauriel knew she had.

 _Have no fear, he cannot hurt you from the Halls of Mandos_. Tauriel’s gaze snapped to the opaque silhouette of the Galadriel. She had not moved, though her eyes bore into the Silvan as her gaze flinched away.

The sensuous flow of throbbing liquid shaped into an image that made her blush. Kili and she lay naked along the banks of the River Anduin. One of their excursions into Ithilien while they stayed in Minas Tirith. She had loved those sojourns into the wilds, not so for the exercise but a chance to be as free as she saw herself in the moving surface. Tauriel watched both what it was and the remembered feel of her Dwarf, his hands on her body as they made love. He was as vigorous in the picture was in life and it made her ache with ghostly need. Tauriel in the water moved her Dwarf to his back so that she might settle astride, taking him into her body. Her head thrown back in ecstasy, she had missed the love and joy on Kili’s face as he held her close to spend into her body.

 _Your babe was conceived this night, two lovers in a natural place to carve out a new life. The Valar are merciful to their most worthy children._ Tauriel’s hand strayed to her belly, feeling the bulge of their baby that was growing each day. She had not prayed to the Valar for a baby during their time, but had taken the blessing and gave thanks.

There was no sound from the water, pulsing to another image. Dain, unchanged by time lay dead at Kili’s feet. There was a savage smile on her love’s face that Tauriel had never seen and for truth, never wished to ever. The sword, _Orcrist_ , was in his hand with a foul glow along its edge first from the Dwarf blood at its sharp edge and the setting sun. Kili kicked the downed Dwarf before looking up as if he felt her gaze from so far away.

There was no warmth in his eyes, none of the life that she knew. This Kili was a younger copy of Thorin with the same madness, wrenching her breaking heart from her chest. He had described his life before he came for her in general terms but Tauriel could imagine him to be like the vision before her. Cruel and brutal with no love in his massive heart. It was not to be! No, she begged the Mirror, do not show me this!.

_You were right not to go, young one._

No, she had not gone, clinging to her oath as a way to block out the fear that made her cringe in remembrance. One keeps an oath not for the oath but for yourself. Honor is behind every oath, each promise. So too is integrity. If faith cannot be kept with the words, than the one who utters them is as meaningless as the words. Useless and dry of all worth.

The voice was serenity in her mind, a balm to soothe. Yet, the fell image of her Love, her husband and other the self could not be soothing. The loud clang her child’s symphony startled Tauriel, pulling her from fear and pain for a moment but it was enough to have some introspection for what she was seeing.

 _Had I gone with him, this would have happened?_ Tauriel spoke the words in her mind only for the Lady could hear her.

_Yes, you would have died at Dain’s hand and so would your babe. History’s path into the future is a circle, rounder than the moon’s face. You dealt with Thorin before though mad by the Arkenstone, he had Bilbo there to reach him. Dain’s has no such connection to hold him back from the worst. His men would have taken you, raped you and Dain would have sent your head to the Mountain._

_This is a result of the Prince’s anger_.

The image flickered away, spinning on the Mirror by an unseen hand mixing the real and the possible. It settled once more with a splash to Kili in full battle armor, doused in blood and mud as he walked through a wasteland of bodies. Absently, he would stab the neck of some on his walk, a flick of the wrist or the powerful stab from the shoulder. There was no life in him, cut away utterly to leave the remnants of it in the groves around his eyes. Another Dwarf joined him, Fili, with blood soaked hair and knives to trail in his brother’s wake.

When she recognized the armor of the fallen, Tauriel couldn’t smother the gasp. Elven armor, Mannish armor scattered limply where they had died. She had heard the tales of Dwarves and their battle tactics, _the Dwarves are upon you_ , until there was nothing left. They fought until the last Dwarrow, but why go to war with Elves and Men? How far into a possible future was this?

Tauriel tore from the images with her screams still echoing in her ears. Before her stood Galadriel in the same pale white robes but it wasn’t the Elleth who stood at the other side of the wellspring. It was the Lady, the Bearer of a powerful ring. Golden fire exploded behind her form, bathing her in shimmering magnificence. Nenya activated on her finger, flooding the world and the Dwarves in radiant pressure. Galadriel was the conduit, her arms lined with silver trails of awakening death. She would kill them, take their lives and what was left the Galadhrim archers that marched from the trees would dispatch the rest. It was over for them. Kili, Fili, and everyone she had known in Dale.

All deeds that last are painted in blood and the Lady of Light would drown her enemies in it.

_He lost you once with no idea of the child you carried. It was hard enough for him then. Now, he lost your life and that of your unborn child. There was nothing left to hold his mind together, no love in his mighty heart. He would kill for the sake of the blood running in his hands and hate just as lustfully._

Tauriel heard the voice, making her heart ache to the point of bursting. Tears streaked her face to fall into the water, yet no ripples obscured the sallow curtain of images. People draw lines of demarcation around moments of pain, then retreat upon isolated islands, protected from the hurtful things. Elves, Dwarves, and Men all reached for the castaway protection. Their mote of sanity with its safe, liquid surface is deceptive. Down in the dark depths, creatures of a corsair's nightmare roam for the unwary, with sharp teeth and a hunger for the soft bits of a person's soul. These great frighteners are all that keep the terrified from losing their minds to that which they cannot face.

_With Erebor, the Iron Hills, The Greenwood and Dale desolated, there is no barrier against the evil that comes from the East._

Rhovanion had burned around her, then Arda. A flood of pain swallowed their world to combine with another darker force from the south. The once great cities she had seen were ground to dust under the tide of perverted Elves called Orc. They roared with no voice, feeling no pain as they accepted their birthright in war. Battles under the poisoned eyes of once beloved stars, marked the destruction. The cries of a thousand raw throats filled the air, a symphony of death had begun.

Tauriel could feel the silent screams of a civilization that had stepped upon others for years beyond count get trampled under the feet of evil. Gondor, Harad, and others. Everywhere the burning eye watched the destruction, its relentless gaze lovingly caressing the annihilation. This is the end, the soundless crunch of bodies and trickle of life blood to be drank by the soulless. Was this the breaking of the world that Elves and other races foretold? Tauriel wondered as the fire burned away all she had known to a barren terrain, could the watery surface impart so much of the possibilities of the future?

The greatest child born of Finarfin rose into view after the fire died to walk barefoot over the charred soil. The wind didn’t touch her, nor did the sizzling ground affect her. At her back, three Elves walked as both her protectors and the protected, Lords Elrond and Celeborn standing with another with a long white beard that Tauriel knew to be Cirdan, the shipwright. There was sadness as the Lady walked beyond a skull, scorched clean in a Elven helm. It was a battlefield of bones, of dead things.

The Lady of Lorien stopped to reach into a pile of charred rocks to pull forth a pendant, unblemished by the war around it. The chain slid down a graceful finger, the weight of the charm at the end falling to earth but caught short to dance upon its metal string. Tauriel knew that pendant, she knew who wore it. The tears on her face came faster as the Lady in the vision screamed in rage at the darkness. It was her shout at the Evil, a stand against the long night that was coming to them. She would not turn from it, she would fight until the end.

“No more! Please! No more.” Tauriel wrenched herself from the font, stumbling away from the Galadriel and truth that was never to be.

_Our war is beginning and each part will make a whole. The Dwarves, the Silvans in Thranduil’s Trees and so many more. We do not know all that will happen or what might change but the Deceiver will come again. We cannot be divided, not for any cost._

Tauriel looked at the Lady, then to Arwen who sat undisturbed not far away. The Evenstar was as still as the white stone that flanked her, tranquility firmly in place. The pendent at her throat blinked in quiet harmony with the heartbeat under the skin. The daughter of Elrond couldn’t see the images from her vantage, had not thought to what could be. How long did the Lady Arwen have before the future became real and she met her end? The Elf had been so kind to Tauriel, to Kili, and called her mellon. To know that she would suffer here rather than sail to the Valinor was hurtful.

_There is more, my child._

“I can bear no more, my Lady.” Tauriel turned away to shield herself, gasping in pain that spread like a flaming eagle through her chest.

 _You must…_ Galadriel’s corporal form never moved on the other side of the bier but her voice hounded the redheaded Elf. The Noldor blood that raced her frame was a special kind of cold to the hotter cousin that resided in the Silvan. She was the glory of an unending age, the greatest of a long line back to Imin who awoke at the bay of Civuienen. Though, not great enough to stop destiny from touching her family: destroying her daughter and taking the life of the Evenstar. Yet for all that, at this moment, the Lady of Lorien was both better and worse than the Elven King thought to be.

“Why must I?” The hurt and anger of what she wanted and how she had lived without rose to scream into the night. “What more must I know?”

Rage pushed the Tauriel forward, grabbing the lip once again to stare at silvery water. She would see what the Lady desperately wanted her to know, to her determent and fallen hopes. Show me your worst and let me decide my fate, she sneered to the glossy surface.

_This is what can be, if hope is strong enough. You have seen the worst, now view the best._

The blast frame of the picture opened to a clear day, giving Tauriel the feeling of blue skies and a warm sunshine. Ahead, the Elf saw herself sitting on a rock with her bow near at hand. She was smiling at something until dark streaks flew too close. Ravens dove in teasing circles just out of reach of the snapping dogs. Kili was there, chasing two children with long straight red hair on the grass. Large dogs that looked like Wargs save for their motley coats, hopped and barked in the game their masters played. Kili hoisted one child over his shoulder when another dog, larger than the others bowled into him to knock him over. Tauriel in the vision laughed as another child, older and larger with black hair of her father, joined the pile that became Kili, dogs and children.

Because of the loss and years, everything should have been torn and twisted. But it hadn’t, their love was stronger, was still strong in this future. Looking at the tallest child in the grouping, Tauriel realized it was a female, Elven featured with a chin braid. An oddity that could only be said for her Silvan half. Their child grew to adulthood to be joined by siblings. There was life in Ered Luin, their life would continue and they would know happiness there.

Tauriel wanted this future, wanted it so badly. There had been pain, love, and pain again for too long. Six hundred years in Mirkwood had not given her the tools to understand what she had faced. Part naivety, part Elven superiority and love saw her through the harsh days with faith in another vision given to her by another powerful Elf. Now, there was another vision of happiness and love. She knew she would fight, tear, and bleed her enemies to make her family be happy and know peace.

“What must I do for this to come to pass?” Tauriel asked the Lady as the image faded back to nothing. She looked to starfelled eyes filled with too much sorrow at the special knowledge she possessed from the void. “How might I make this future the truth?”

_Truth is a strange companion. It devastates one moment and enthralls the next. But it never deceives. And because of that, in the end, it comforts. The path is before you, do not lose your way._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG 65..
> 
> Normally, I have given details on the story, interesting facts that I have blended in. This is the 65th chptr and I just want to say thank you to everyone who has stuck with me during the writing of this monster... I see the ending.. might be 10 chptrs.. might be 15.. However, the side stories of Sad Tales Best Forgotten will be updated regularly because I have finally caught up with the Kili/Tauriel portion. I am tying up the loose ends here .. lol


	66. Chapter 66

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the breezes blowin' o'er the sea from Ireland  
>  Are perfumed by the heather as they blow  
>  And the women in the uplands diggin' praties  
>  Speak a language that the strangers do not know. 
> 
> Yet the stangers came and tried to teach us their way.  
>  They scorned us just for bein' what we are.  
>  But they might as well go chasing after moon beams,  
>  Or light a penny candle from a star. 
> 
> Galway Bay Lyrics....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre fight... The fight chapter was massive so in the interest of editing, it was cut down..

The meeting was somber, Dwarves drinking round after round for their Thane who at this moment dressed for his battle. All those who had attended the feasting last night were blurry eyed and baleful as they tucked into a long table for a tankard of ale mixed with a brew of some sort that decreased the swollen heads that were up so early. Fili Baknul would take his axe to battle and his people would sing his tale with a pipe in their mouth and a pint in their fist.

Balin looked worse than any while his brother, Dwalin possessed the clearest mind. The large tattooed warrior said nothing as he took stone to his axes’ edges with single minded determination. Kili felt sorry for the Captain of the Guard as he ate the last bit of his eggs, his situation was not enviable. Dwalin ignored Hannar and Glorin’s toasts and catcalls, finally having enough to leave the bunch. Pushing away from the table, the prince went to follow him only to be stopped at the door by Dis in quite a state.

“My son, I would speak with you.” Dis grabbed his arm, tugging him out the door and away from the company who grumbled in the room. She slammed the door on them, looking around the deserted hall. “You have been avoiding me.”

“I have been avoiding the argument that is coming.” Kili said quietly. “I have preparations of my own to make.”

The night before Fili’s immediate circle had drank every bottle of fine wine to its lees, while the King himself conferenced with Olgr to glean the last bits that might turn the fight. A desperate plan had been hatched over the last of the celebration casks and boisterous cheer. Something bold and unexpected. It was the kind of last ditch effort that if it were successful was the stuff of legends and campfire stories. Kili already carried a train of infamy, he was in no hurry to add to the burden. Yet, he would for Fili and to keep his family safe. He had spoken the right of the situation. Dain and each Dwarf under the care of the Mountain had to know that there was reprisals for rebellion, that the King’s Justice was fair and vicious in defense of the Mountain Throne.

“You must talk to your brother, please.” Dis whispered urgently. “He has not the experience to fight Dain! Take his axe and meet the challenge yourself!”

Kili drew back, pulling his arm away from her clutch. He accidently scraped his quiver on the stone wall behind him and possibly his bow. “This moment belongs to my brother, the King. I would not take it from him to make our Thane look weak before our people!”

He knew that his mother did this out of love, but that love would strangle them. The steps she had taken, quietly when others fail to see might have been seditious on its own. Dis couldn’t know then what might happen anymore than Kili could predict the ending of the fight. He knew that looking at his mother’s pleading face, it was better to go into the world in the full glory of some passion than to fade and wither with age. With backside murmurings following behind each door.

“It is not weakness when he is unprepared! He hasn't spared as he ought for something of this nature! Bravado pushed him into this but Fili has not time to really train for it! Dain has been encamped and sparing every day if the reports are correct.” Dis was angry, grabbing at Kili’s arm once more. “If you will not save your brother’s life, at least talk him into peace!”

Hidden within the unconscious, there is an insatiable desire for conflict raging in every Dwarf. Add madness, the crazed yearning for something of particular significance, to the cauldron that will boil into a most explosive stew. Dain couldn’t fight against it, no more than any son of Durin who fell to greed. His Amad might have some faith in her sons to know this like any other, yet Kili could not trust this day to happenstance. He couldn’t risk his brother’s life due to his mother’s interference.

“It’s too late for that, Amad.” Kili pried her fingers away once more to take a step back, mindful of the wall this time. “The night has fallen and the Morning’s Son will rise. I say this not blindly for I know in my heart that Fili will win the day and Dain will die.”

Every child finds a day when they realize that adults can be weak and wrong just like everyone else. There was still enough of the child in him to remember the sacrifices of his Amad, to grant her respect. Though now, the choice to ignore what she was or see her as the adult he had become was before him. Their worlds made inhabitants what they are, and all the pain and suffering was to fix the folly of those who came before, who shaped the world in their image only to leave the ruin of their feast. His heart was heavy as stone but he walked away.

In the next corridor, he found Burin in armor talking to Dwalin quietly. The two Dwarrows greeted him genially as Kili spoke quietly. “Dwalin, I need a favor.”

This wasn’t what he wanted to discuss with the large Dwarf but based upon his mother’s face and their conversation, the other could wait. Dwalin’s mind was not upon last evening’s merriment and Olrun, his martial mind was set to the task at hand. Frustration ate at the son of Fundin, unable to save his female the agony of a severed family line. Kili held his faith that Vigdis survived the night in the camps, but what shape she was in was another story.

“You have it.” The rumble of pain was in his voice, Dwalin looked resolved in the light of his situation.

Kili had watched the big Dwarf fight hard last night to keep the Lady Olrun for leaving, never begging. The Dwarrowdam loved her family, her tears were many when the news broke that the Ironfoot had taken Vigdis back to the sounder’s reach. Screaming at them all, railing against the fate that should have never happened, the strawberry blond had dissolved into raking sobs of stinging heartbreak. Had it been Fili or another member of his family suffering, he would have moved Erebor’s itself to get to their side. Olrun’s family meant everything to her, and Kili could relate to the anguish. Her brother’s idea had been a surprise, the solution simple. They couldn’t help his daughter that night, but they could still have revenge for the sunrise.

“Confine my mother to her chambers as of this moment. I cannot permit her to be free if she tries to interfere.” It hurt what he decided to do, and he prayed to Mahal that Dis would forgive him one day.

If the request was insulting, Dwalin never said. He turned away, striding down the hall in a fast clip. At the end, he encountered a guard that Kili didn’t know. After a few minutes, the two set off at a quick pace to find Dis and carry out Kili’s order. Sigrid would be approached if not already, it would do nothing for the pregnant Queen to have her near mother buzzing doom in her ear. Worry was an avalanche in the mind. One rock might fall completely alone, however, it might find company that could mob the landscape.

Taking an off passage, Kili made for the stable. Orcrist’s scabbard banged against his leg on every other step. The others would be breaking their fast then getting prepared for the trek to the Vale. Winding down to the last level of the Mountain before it went subterranean, the wide open space was a bustle of activity. To keep their livestock from theft, all essential animals were brought into the mountain. Mostly ponies, cattle and some sheep were packed into the available spaces, swine had been slaughtered and preserved at the onset of Dain’s arrival. The only pigs in the Mountain now belonged to the Broadbeams from the Iron Hills.

Looking around at the open stalls, he could see none of their number at first glance. Fili had raged long about Vigdis’ return, his worry as evident as Olgr’s. There was some talk that Nori had slipped from the halls at some point to try and steal her back. But Kili would not lay money to that wager, he had seen the Dwarrowdam’s face as she walked to the long line of Dain’s sounders. She would not break her oath and it would go ill for her to stay with Dain.

He walked by the stable master bellowing at the workers who were in the process of disposing of the massive amounts of waste generated by so many animals in close quarters. The master marked his presence before he continued to issue orders. The stables were a marvel of Dwarven ingenuity but there were only so many places for everyone. The quarters were built for two thirds the amount of livestock packed into its corrals at present and the staff were overworked keeping things clean. The individual stalls against the far wall were still in use, some with two ponies per stall. Knowing that Warg was too troublesome on his own, Kili walked past the line of paddocks to his pony no doubt quartered in a stall.

Taking a lead line from a peg, he quickly looped it into a hackamore in order to get started with what needed doing. There was no joy in these preparations, the mindless tasks in no way removing his resolve. Warg’s hindquarters were to the opening of the stall, indifferent to the activity in the stable.

“What ya do to him this last year?” The large Dwarf asked as Kili stepped inside the enclosure. “Where it any other beast, I would say he pines. Barely eats, never gets uppity when his stall is cleaned.”

“He does pine.” Kili told the master simply as he took a brush from the side.

The piebald turned his head to snort at his rider, looking down again when the other Dwarf left. Quietly, Kili slipped the hackamore over his head to tie him still for the grooming and saddle. Checking the hooves first and deciding them good, he brushed down Warg’s painted hide in rough strokes. The animal tolerated it for a time but finally had enough, stamping a foot before he bucked a little at the tied rope holding him fast to the wall.

“You have given me occasion and urge to take a sword and lop off your head. Yet, here at a time where I know your life might be in jeopardy, it makes me pause. We have come too far for me not too.” Kili tugged on an ear as the pony blew at him from the length allowed by his tied rope. “You miss Flandif and I long for her rider. Let us both meet the day and wish to be close to them once more.”

The pony looked back at him again at the mention of Tauriel’s horse. He had fought to stay with the mare as his master had cleaved his heart in two when he left his wife. It was funny in this place to have more in common with his half trained ill-tempered donkey of a mount than anyone else in Erebor. Each asked when Tauriel would arrive, now they just assumed she would come once the danger had passed. The saddling took no effort, though a well-placed push to get him to deflate his barrel was necessary. For once, Warg didn’t try to bite when Kili put in bit, rolling his tongue over it a moment before settling.

As he led Warg from the stall, Kili heard a song being sung two stalls away. It wasn’t a melody he knew well, one of dancing Elves and singing Dwarves outside of Khazad-dum in the time of Durin III. It wasn’t so much the words, the Dwarrowdam had a lovely voice. But it was clear, she had not heart to sing or at least, not this song.

Kili continued until he passed by a cordoned area where a Dwarrowdam sat between two gilts nursing litters. She rubbed the snouts closest to her, touching the piglets that lay sleeping already. The clip clop of hooves drew her notice and Kili was shocked for a moment at the tears that ran unchecked down her face into her beard. This must be Verdandi, he thought as he watched her wipe the tears away. A pretty ‘dam the same grey eyes had been gifted to Vidgis, the same thundercloud of color and shape. It was not hard to understand her grief for her child, the strong Dwarrowdam who had walked to her fate yesterday. He felt the same compulsion as he had to talk to Sigrid, deciding like then to act upon the impulse.

“I did not mean to interrupt, my lady. I heard the song and the pretty voice that lifted it.” The compliment didn’t stir the lady still seated in the hay, though she looked at him in bewilderment. “I am Kili, son of Vali and the Princess Dis, my lady.”

The confusion vanished as did her song. She rubbed a few others before taking to her feet to shake away the clinging straw and shavings from her black skirts. A tall female, she stood at the same height as his mother or close to it. Her stride was purposeful, coming from the stall to bow before him respectfully. Kili gestured to her but she backed away from his hand.

“Greetings to you, Prince Kili of Erebor. My apologies if my singing disturbed. We sing to the piglets as they nurse and sleep to let them know our voice when they are the most restful and happy.” Verdandi looked back to the swine. “These were my daughter’s. She was going.. to…”

The Dwarrowdam broke off in a sob, clenching her eyes shut for the anguish of her missing child. Kili had seen her husband’s fear yesterday, his sister’s torment at Vidgis’ return to Dain. A lady of renown amongst her people, her daughter a celebrated soldier in the sounders was unable to stop this disaffection. Rumors of Vigdis’ catching his nephew, Fian’s, eye some months back had come to the Prince making him smile. In another forty years or more, Verdandi might find her daughter married to a prince of her own if it proves more than childish fancy. Fili had been of the opinion it was not, either.

“Weep not, my Lady. I will secure your daughter.” He wanted to reassure the Lady Verdandi, allow her the tears but also give her comfort.

No Dwarf is singular, it’s why they group into clans. To see Laulumistaja outside of Rivendell, a lone Stiffbeard, was a surprise. All in life need those who love passionately, never singly. Dwarves even needed those who hated them, as a balance to the bounty that the Great Smith provided to his children. The Khazad needed others to chain them to life, to give them a reason to live, to feel. To understand that there was more to life that metal and stone.

“She belongs to the Ironfoot. Only the Stonehelm might have protected her in the night. If he cares to thwart his bastard father!” It was a mother’s rage, the same that he might see in any Dwarrowdam. Children were precious to mothers no matter their age.

They walked from the enclosure, her heart and pride holding her together. The lady suffered in her love, something that was both a great tragedy and a horrible offense before Mahal. Dwarrowdams were to be cosseted, protected, not brutalized at the hand of their Thane. The lady didn’t blame another, didn’t try to strike at someone who might have had a hand in this debacle. Kili found he admired her for that alone, knowing that he would do whatever needed to bring home her daughter.

It made him feel the worse for what he had just asked Dwalin to do to his own mother.

Walking to the exit that lead to the outside tunnel, a lovely blond Dwarrowdam stepped into view from the upper stairs. One of the ladies he remembered in Herja’s retinue, she was of late in Sigrid’s company. The tale of her redemption was accepted but Kili had doubts. Her name came to him as Thrud when she saw him, flinching slightly at his direct gaze.

“I do not mean to..” She let the words die slowly, taking a step away from him. Somewhere she found her spine to straighten and return his stare. “I seek the Lady Verdandi. Her husband was most effected by her disappearance.”

“She has left already, using the Grand Entrance corridor.”

Kili left the Dwarrowdam, leading Warg to switchback tunnel that would take them outside from the causeway. Boron, Bais and Glorin would be awaiting him there, as would the other members of Thorin’s company. There were be no interference, none could directly approach Dain for his actions yesterday. The contest would settle the score, to lay to rest the right of who should sit the Mountain Throne.

The collapsible tunnel was not so steep for him, mazelike in its complexity. One had to know the Mountain, understand that it had its own mind for good or ill. An avalanche in a shaft might be the rock stirring from a nightmare or the annoyance of some kind. The Mountain cared little if a Dwarf was comely or if he bathed with any regularity. In Erebor, time is stone. It is the darkness, permanent and unyielding, its only measure the twin pendulums of a life, desire and need. The stone layers were both a shield and a tomb, something that Men of any nation could never understand.

The bright morning stung his eyes at first. Like all members of the Dwarven clans, their biology fitted their nocturnal habits. Adjusting, he led the pony out with him to the line of Umli aback their Frost Antlers who stood as escort for the assembled. Many of Thorin’s company had arrived with others filtering from the gates. Three sleds stood at the end, Boron, Windrider to Glorin bore the crone perched upon comfortable furs in front of him. The old one was more wizened than Gandalf. They wore less fur than they might have previously, summer breathed a warmer wind upon their plain.

Bais coughed slightly to draw his attention, but only succeeding in drawing irritated glances. Kili turned away completely to look far to the south at the dark line that stood at the rise. Obviously the troops of Dale, Mirkwood, and Umli escorts bore the witness of what the outcome might be. Gandalf sat his mount beside Kings Thranduil and Bard atop his large converted plowhorse. Erethon and Elrohir were bunched on Gandalf’s other end, leaving Dorlad and Bain to be absent. With any luck, they two would be in position along the far slope out of sight thanks to a raven sent to Dale at sundown last night. Should the battle go ill, they were tasked with getting Sigrid and the boys away to exile.

Olgr, son of Tarag, had been advised to stay in the Mountain with the Queen. Kili noticed him and his wife, Verdandi, take a position upon the balcony close to where Sigrid would be standing. The contingency was that the ladies would provide a distraction at any who stormed the Great Gates to cover Sigrid’s escape. The striplings would have the boys safe near the stable tunnels. They would not be allowed to watch the battle, not even from a distance.

Fili walked from the great gates, followed by two guards. Everything he was now and forever shall be resided in the summer sky blue eyes.

Kili saw him as Fili was always meant to be seen. He wasn’t like Kili, all gangled limbs that outraced the rest of his body. The King under the Mountain was a strong block of a body, squared in simple rough armor of an everyday warrior Dwarf. There was no ostentatious gold on his person, nor ornamental array. It was a hard, bloody business to do go into a fray with family. Hammer or mattock would do little damage to his torso, the boiled woven leather would absorb the blows rather than rattle his ribs like metal plate.

The normally shaggy blond head was braided tight to give the Ironfoot no advantage. Fili would give no quarter nor permit the oddity of hair used in battle. Dain was an old boar, would have forgotten more nasty tricks than what Fili might have learned in his overage of eighty years. However, his brother possessed the old knowledge of hand to hand thanks to Dwalin and Thorin, and a foundling perception for new ideas gleaned from their guardian years. The same cutting intelligence lay distant there. The forbidding sort that was both wondrous and crushing together.

No matter if his Amad was correct, his brother was one of the best fighters Kili knew. The cutting edge of his father’s axe was as keen as he could make it, testified by Dwalin to its sharpness. An axe against a hammer or mattock would hold any charge, the weapons that Dain favored were not for single combat. At best, a warhammer was excellent for bashing a thick skull from aback a charging animal. The mattock had the same reach as an axe with duel sharp edges, making Kili wish that the Ironfoot possessed a love for the dramatic. Trying to kill his brother with war hammer would fit that description.

The King under the Mountain mingled into the groups, talking to some before moving on. Kili walked away from the Umli to stand at Oin’s shoulder as the Dwarf locked into step with his brother, Gloin. A line formed to his left, the ones who had set out of Bagend years ago to reclaim a homeland. Thorin’s company, each standing as a wall to beach any threat.

Fili looked down the line as it straightened, his lips firming into a line of compression. Taking a step, then another, his brother walked down the line starting with Balin. They touched heads softly, reverently, with a hand on the neck to hold for a space. Each one, Fili greeted in the same way, speaking silent words to other until all of them squeezed their eyes shut and tightened their grip on their Thane’s neck. It was a seminal moment, something each one would remember for the rest of their long lives. Once they stood upon the Erebor’s vale, touched by their King and watched him meet a traitor in combat.

When Fili arrived, when his vision was blocked by a leather gambeson and mail, Kili knew not what to say. There was so much that needed saying and now, there was never enough time. What could he say but fight well, and may the Great Smith be on the side of the righteous? They stared at each other for a moment before Kili lowered his head in supplication. His braids slid along his face to clack against Fili’s moustache plaits as he lowered his head to meet him halfway. They didn’t break the silence, sharing breath and space, each reaching for his brother to hold him in place.

“Should I fall..” Fili began but stopped when Kili’s grip tightened where his neck joined the shoulder. “Should I fall, know that I have no fear for my family for you will care for them. Know that I have been honored to call you my brother and I will have a space beside me in the Halls of Our Fathers for you. It has been a grand adventure. I love you, Kili.”

He knew that what his brother had said to each was personal, something that resonated to every member. There was no greater bond than that of brothers both blooded and joined in strife. Several sniffed hard and blew their noses at their King’s words. Fili was the summation of their hopes and the embodiment of all their dreams.

Taking a deep breath, Kili responded. “Should you fall, your sons will grow to maturity upon the great stories of their Adad. Your family is my family, and they shall never live in fear or want. Be at peace in the Halls of Waiting and know that I am honored to have fought at your side. I love you, my brother.” With a choked gasp, he finished. “Should you fall, Dain’s sunrises will be numbered. This I swear to you!”

The Dwarrowdams and all the Daughters of Men lined the upper balcony, each wearing varying shades of blue. Leaning down, they each brought baskets to their sides flinging petals into the wind. Heather from the eastern side of the mountain wavered into the breeze to fall upon the warriors that in a shower curtain of pink and white. Sigrid started singing, a cradle song that is sung to Dwarf babes as they sleep. Each lady took up the tune, choppy at first until they found the pace. The ladies sang the words in unison, yet somehow created a web of sounds with their voices. It was like hearing a piece of fabric woven with all the colors of the known world.

Kili had no idea he would be so effected, nor the others as they stopped and stared at them. It was not just the cradle song, it was a harmony of wishes, future and life everlasting. It was the same support, a mother’s love that fortified a child, that held him upright with honor and it touched every Dwarf who heard their song. It was the music of life and it would usher them home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was so much action that I wanted to get into this situation, but also get the feelings there.. Fili chose Kili over Thorin in Laketown and here we have Kili choosing Fili over Dis.. They are brothers and I wanted that bond to ring true.. I don't think Dis really thought it through about Kili taking Fili's place, it was more .... Kili had more fighting time than Fili who hadn't spared in a very long time..


	67. Chapter 67

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I see skies of blue and clouds of white  
> The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night  
> And I think to myself what a wonderful world.
> 
> ~Louis B Armstrong - What a Wonderful World ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fight Fight Fight !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> Warnings for animal cruelty

Fili set off across the vale, leading the rest to fall into formation. He was the vanguard, the point with others following in his wake. It wasn’t the quick step of a martial line, but the slow amble of passing clouds. The King walked as if he had nowhere else to be, meeting the challenge with grace and confidence.

Taking his helm from the guard beside him, Fili had chosen a reinforced plain design with a slightly bowled center. The thoughts behind this decision was twofold. The bowled center would not provide a flat surface for any weapon of Dain’s to hit with vicious impact. Dwarrow bones were hardy and strong but the force behind a mattock or hammer _might_ actually crack the King’s skull. The other reason was the reinforced shielding at the back would protect the fragile neck and upper spine. Junked mithril had also been used for this as had Fili’s ceremonial armor, the steel coating hid its tale tell patina.

Kili leapt for Warg's back, landing and startling the ill-tempered beast into a snorting run. The little pony grunted with something like anger as it galloped, settling into pace with the Umli and Stiffbeard mounts. They took up a line behind Thorin’s company who bunched themselves into a pack of fours. The level view was inspiring and for the first time, Kili wished Bilbo was here. The little Hobbit would have run on faster legs to keep step with the taller, heavier Dwarves but he would have done it. Handkerchiefs would be tucked in a jacket pocket and his mighty Sting handing from a loop on his belt. There hadn’t been so much talk of him in last years and Kili wondered what might have befell his once friend.

They might not be that strength which in old days had rode to battle with a prayer to the Smith and a ready sword. Each member of the company was strong in will and united in temper. The sky could fall this day, drowning them in raindrops as big as the Arkenstone, yet they would never shrivel, facing whatever came with ironed will. Mahal rewarded the strong with luck, letting the weak fall to the wayside.

The Umli and Stiffbeard bands had filed into ranks upon the sides as they had the previous day, a barrier to prevent an all-out war. The Abkarul Hakhd lined the eastern ridge with the Elves and Men to the south. A giant square formed to watch the fray that would decide their future. Kili could see some of the Iron Dwarves break away and trout down the incline to the middle ground. Goats and pigs that he could see rather than Abkarul Hakhd. No doubt Dain’s hog would be armored for show, at least, that was the prince’s hope. It would make his display that much sweeter.

Onward they marched, letting the pace set itself to match their Thane. The hugeness of the Mountain laughed at them in the form of crumbling rocks and squawking ravens as their group emerged from it's shadow.  The size of the Dwarf, his self-importance mattered little in the eternal life of Erebor.

Fili had seen the break away, swinging his arms and axe to warm the muscles as he continued. Boron drew abreast of Kili but didn’t pass him, the dogs of his team leaning into their harness. Bais and Glorin moved ahead to meet their group and make the formal commencement begin. Bais’ Nenrais was as stately as Thranduil’s every conceived. The Arbiters’ expressions were closed as if the current situation was their failure when every Dwarf knew that only a death would satisfy this siege of Durin’s folk.

Dwalin bore a different expression of mild disgust like he had smelled something very disagreeable but had no notion of what to do about it. The big Dwarf rolled his body to wake it up to the fight which was overdue. How many nights crumbled between he and Olrun, suffered to melancholy and swept away? Olden days of this realm never required a Dwarrow to steal his One nor permit this deception. A male merely asked to feel the earth move beneath his boots when the One who completed him plaited a braid in his hair or know his bursting heart if she kissed him after.

Bofur to his right, whispered to him to hold his breath and count to ten when his frustration sought to unnerve the others. Dwalin was consummate at the last, wanting that action that would end this farce. For himself, Kili had dreamt of this moment. His constraint, made weak by time and fate, would not yield its grasp as he floundered and drowned like a caught fish. He could see himself swinging an axe and taking the Ironfoot’s head, his whole body committed to the act. Bloody dreams, dark with tainted rest had visited him in the night to rob him of needed sleep. The lust for vengeance was only solidified in the face of a crying Verdandi who wondered at her daughter’s fate.

There was a need for Dain’s blood on his hands, the old hate would not lie quiet in his heart until the Dwarf who was responsible for so many others’ pain breathed his last. Only his love for his brother and King helped Kili stay the course that he had laid with Fili’s approval. There would be blood flowing on the Elven blade this day, but not the Ironfoot’s.

“This is folly, Rilwyr.” A Dwarf spoke harshly at Kili’s left. Many of Thulin’s Folk were of that mindset, it was an open secret on each face.

Boron chuckled to the Umli at his side mindful of the comments floating on the wind from all sides. He pointed to the single boar in the lead. “Dain is traveling with Dwarves who respect only strength greater than theirs, a male harder than themselves. Above everything else, the Iron Dwarves respect success. If he had thought longer than his pillar and stones, he would have understood the risks of this venture.”

Dain drew to the meeting point, hidden upon in the sparkling flash of metal. The Dwarf was like the boar he rode, a wall of flat muscle and wide arms. The Easterling plates had been sewn into the heavy cloth to be arranged in a squared design for better protection for both rider and mount. The metal on the boar clanged together as his small legs kicked the loose tiles, an obvious new addition to his armament. Lighter than the mail, it played to the strengths of the pig’s thick hide and massive hump without the weight. The sinuous glint of light off the thick tusk sheaths reflected the wicked sharpness with reverse spikes at the edges, designed to do more damage when the tusk was removed than when it first stabbed its target.

Like the boar, the plates up the Ironfoot’s suit were side by side laced together with metal links. No Dwarf had worn such a configuration, thinking more with the want of covering each available inch of the body with metal rather than give over to increased flexibility. The kink in the corners would allow for an arrow to stick to the thick surcoat underneath, Kili supposed. He could fire his arrows at the Ironfoot, a collection of burs to weaken the apostate. Dain would have a greater range of motion in the arms than with the traditional solid metal plate. But it would be harder for him fight a moving battle with the connected shielding that went down his thighs. Dain would be a battering ram with only the momentum he could summon in his upper body strength, rather than the increase energy behind a running swing.

The Warhammer was the choice, if Kili had to guess since there were no other weapons visible save the long knife at his side. Dwalin knew their enemy better than the others. His opinion was to the effect that Dain wanted the symbolism of using his blunt instrument to pound the life from his kin. Bloody and decidedly barbarous, two adjectives that described a Dwarf would be played out in a vile spectacle for the others. Swords would have been ideal, the mattock, yet neither were chosen for they lacked the pageantry of a slow death from a crushed chest.

Bais and Glorin pushed their sled and elk forward, Umli and Stiffbeard in unity. The representatives were arrayed in fighting gear, ready to stand between the might of two factions to prevent their mutual destruction. Two Kings of the same people met in sanctioned warfare.  The pomp and circumstance would continue until the last.

“Who meets this morning in combat?” Glorin’s bass note carried in lilting waves across the vale.

Fili and Dain advanced at once until they were within a meter of the other. The tension ramped up in the assembled, anxious for it to begin and dreading the outcome. Dain’s helm obscured his face, thinking that the face shield would guard against Fili’s axe. He must have known Fili would choose their father’s possession with the same instinct that Dwalin had advised the Ironfoot would take his hammer.

“I ask for the sake of the office that I have been charged, might there be peace?” Glorin looked to Fili and to Dain. “Could not some agreement be reached for the two peoples of Durin’s folk to live in solitude rather than war and bloodshed?”

“There shall be none.” Fili’s tone was empty of all emotion as he stared at the Ironfoot. “He has bent a knee to the Mountain Throne to pledge his life and now dares to march against it. I call him oathbreaker, and his life shall pay the forfeit.”

There was more, so much more. Olrun, Vigdis, the insults and parody of loyalty that had become part of the corruption of Dain and his band of Durin’s Folk. A cleansing was needed, a great wash to cure the disease that rotted in the Iron Hills into a lesser mortality.

“I want Olrun! I want her and you will give her over!” Dain swung his hammer around his right hand, twirling it as he sneered. “There are negotiations that might be worked out if my cousin is brought back into the bosom of her family.”

Fili backed away, holding up a hand to stop the forward rush as he burst into laughter. He pointed to Dwalin and beckoned him to join them there, still gasping his breath at the hilarity of Dain and his request. The others looked rather discomforted at the King under the Mountain’s great belly laugh. The fact that he stopped the intermediaries to chortle so harshly, caused many to question their Thane’s sanity. When Dwalin stepped in line with his King, it was a fight for Kili to stay somber as the situation unfurled. The play actors were taking their marks; the real comedy was about to begin.

"You are beyond mad," said Fili after several moments of deep rolling laughter. "Full-on barking madness is a state of rationale that holds you fast. Men living in gutters and drinking their own piss would shun your company. You are a prancing lunatic aback a pig!”

Dain jerked back at the insults, his face beginning to redden faster from his anger than ever he might from the sun and exertion. The Ironfoot made a purring sound in frustration, deep in his throat like a growl. That a King might insult another King was accepted but Dain felt he was beyond this pettiness, making Kili smile at what was to come.

“I cannot give over your cousin, Dain. She claimed Dwalin for her husband last evening, spent the night in his chambers. They are wedded and bedded properly at their _own_ request!”

Dwalin removed his helm to shake free his hair, the braids from behind a ragged ear caught the morning sun in the silver beads. Three braids of midnight hue shot with aged silver claimed the Captain of Erebor’s guards for a Broadbeam wife, the authoress of their dilemma. Kili knew that Dwalin had not wanted the wedding to be dealt in this manner, nor if she were of her mind would the lady Olrun. But it had been witnessed and toasted in the Water Chamber, a union that was more than forty years in the making. Whether they consummated their union was anyone’s guess, for none dared asked to see the bedding sheet.

“No! I do not allow…”

The massive Dwarf swathed in hostility and iron will obviously couldn’t take the prodding anymore than a child might. He bloated in his anger, taking a step at Dwalin only to be stopped by the hand of Bais who rode her Frost Antler into between. She had drawn a curved singled headed axe in her right hand, turning her wrist in preparation should she need the weapon.

“It matters not what you would allow!” Dwalin seethed to the irate Dain, shaking his axe. “ _My_ wife will stay in _my_ Hall, not be forced to warm your furs, you malignant bastard!”

The gambit was to push, heap and pile the unending stream of every nightmare that Dain might envision. There was too much pride, every pore seeped arrogance and wrath in this Dwarf. Any device might unbalance the Ironfoot but they didn’t want him unbalanced only. They wanted him insensible, a victim of emotions he had no hope of controlling.

“Hold!” Kili yelled loudly as Dain’s anger began to rise at the thought that his cousin was bedding another.

Kili rode forward to the Umli, pressing Warg through their barrier. Bais had the audacity to give him a saucy wink when she moved aside her massive white Elk, making Kili want to roll his eyes at her. It would be noticed and his attention needed to be on the task at hand. The fire of the Ironfoot’s wrath was burning hot, it was time to throw the oil upon it.

“I hold a grievance with Dain Ironfoot, Thane aUrậd Zirnul.” Kili told the assembled as Glorin as drew abreast. Alvitr Udar grinned widely from her perch in the sled. “I charge my right to satisfaction for his Dwarves handling of my wife and the Ironfoot’s insults to the same.”

The amassed grumbled to themselves, shooting him confused looks. There were tales of Kili taking down men who had harmed his Elf years previously, though not where any satisfaction was required of the Thane. Dain’s insults, however, had been circulated and that alone could demand atonement. The Umli and Thulin’s Folk had no knowledge of what he attempted, the brashness of the deed. Fili had laughed when Kili had told him his idea, thinking it a fine joke until he realized that his brother held no mirth. The seriousness of the situation griped the room, making each understand that there was the possibility of victory. A future.

Dain chuckled in frustrated refrain swinging his hammer. “Ye’ll have to wait ye’r turn, laddie. Once I dispatch with yon ingot, I’ll deal with ye.”

The smug arrogance was almost too much to bear, for Kili at any road. The thought of this loudmouth and his comments of taking his wife had stayed with the dark Prince, hardening his resolve. Glorin looked at the Ironfoot then back to Kili. The arbiter weighed the balance of the fight and Kili’s need for vengeance.

“I cannot permit you the satisfaction, Prince of Erebor.” Glorin stated in an officious voice. “Dain’s person must not be compromised or the fight would not be fair between himself and the Thane Fili.”

Dain chuckled at the ruling, still swinging his hammer. But the smile ran away from his face when he realized that Kili’s smirk had not changed. The hammer’s revolutions slowed to bang against the ground as Kili continued to stare at the Ironfoot.

“I don’t want to take the Ironfoot’s head, master Glorin. That is my Thane’s pleasure.” Kili unslung his bow from his back to pluck the strings. “There is another target that will do just as well.”

Kili lay heels to Warg, sitting back into the saddle. He let him leap into a bounding gallop with teeth bared as he stretched out his black and white neck. Drawing the Elven arrows that the Galadhrim had replaced for the ones he had lost on the dash from Gondor, he fired arrow after arrow into the Dain’s boar’s unprotected legs and hindquarters. The justice of the Elven arrows was not lost on him as it was for the reprisal of his Elven wife.

The animal was unable to get away, the narrow bladed tips cutting into vulnerable joints. The stress in Kili’s thighs sang as he struggled to stay mounted, firing another arrow into the squealing beast. Warg swerved into an arc as the boar screamed in pain, thrashing and fighting against the assault. Once he got close enough, he shot an arrow through the chained bit to pin the animal to one spot. There was a grating cacophony from the Iron Dwarves for they only could see a Prince of Erebor killing their leader’s boar, not the why of it. The dying pig’s screams effect the boars at the hill’s crest, causing many to fight their riders.

Kili twisted to see Dain roaring like a crazed thing but Glorin and Bais bared his way. There was no law that the King’s Justice broke for the animal was not a member of Khazad and the attack was not upon the Ironfoot. It was a vicious act, nevertheless, cruel and mean to destroy a mount of any breed. Thorin had cut him in much the same way, taking his ability to walk by severing the muscles in the back of the legs. The animal was down, with no way to escape. A final arrow spiked through the snout at close range to hold the boar’s head down as Kili dismounted. He pulled Orcrist from the saddle for the next step in the plan.

Kili slapped Warg on the leg and pointed to Erebor. He found his breath as the pony cut into the stunned assembled, racing for his stall with all possible speed. None had tried to stop him, permitting the pony’s retreat from the field. Once Warg was safely away, he advanced upon the wounded animal, bellowing in pain in the Ironfoot’s general direction. In pain, stabbed and bleeding, the boar lurched but was unable to stand. It finally folded the arrow stuck legs underneath its bulk to snap the fragile shafts in two and bury the leaf shaped heads further.

The Prince’s disinterest in Dain’s twice damned posturing was so tangible, bricks could be made out of it. It wasn’t enough to kill his hog, never enough for the pain that Tauriel had suffered. At his hands, at Thorin’s. Kili would burn their bodies down to ash, then use their bones to smash their effigies in the Halls of Waiting. His song of Kin would have a vicious ring, a discord that would echo through the years beyond counting. Looking at Dain as he continued to scream obscenities at him, Kili shoved the broadsword deep into the pig’s neck behind the ear. There was a gentle cuff, like the sigh of a dove when Orcrist slid into flesh. Kili was spattered with fresh blood from the wide wound as the sword was pulled from the dead pig.

Dain broke free of Glorin, rushing past the sled that housed the crone with no thought to the cane she struck in his path. The Ironfoot stumbled but continued his flight to Kili’s side. It couldn’t have been more perfect than he might have wished, Kili thought as the Ironfoot drew nigh. Raising the Elven sword, the King’s justice gave a bloody grin when Boron tackled Dain to the ground.

Fili strode onto the field, swinging his axe. He leaned over in the same fashion he used when he would humiliate Kili in the sparing lists. The chuckle that sprang from his lips employed the same tenor of those halcyon days.

“Dain, your fight is with me, not my brother for taking his due.” The condescending tone continued, tugging a snicker from Kili has Dain’s eyes blazed with pure hate. “Kili might have my leavings; if there is aught left when I am done.”

Boron rolled free, allowing the Ironfoot his freedom. It was the beginning for the Thane of the Iron Hills came up swinging. Fili gave it back, moving into rhythm of combat as if stepping into old boots. The axe came round at blinding speed and Dain was forced to parry it. They struggled face to face for a moment before Dain shoved him away with his free hand. In that instant, Fili struck, bringing his edge sharply through the Dwarf’s unprotected upper thigh. He shoved the hilt, jamming it into Dain’s leg with a wild battle cry. Blood splashed his face as he ripped the metal edge back and forth in a sawing motion in a vain attempt to cut through the thick tendons.

It left Fili’s face open to the blinding punch from a mailed fist. The stunner was just that, a crack to the heavy jaw that knocked the King back a step for Dain to get the axe out of his leg. First blood flowed from both but neither wound was decisive enough yet. Kili joined the others to one side, Dwalin putting a heavy hand on his shoulder to keep him in place.

At the last second, Dain shifted his weight again, turning a sweep into a lunge. Fili dropped his right leg back to swing out of the way, taking the blow along the scales of his own mail. The power from the hammer, knocked him back a step but the under padding absorbed the shock. A bizarre kinship that transcends blood reminded them that they speak the same aggressive language.

Dain used the momentum to follow into a swing around his body to bring the hammer against on Fili's head. Many more blows could be ignored or merely turned with a little delicacy. Dwalin had cautioned Fili to patience, that Dain could be worn down from his own bravado. Yet if the Ironfoot wished to fight him like the King was an unexperienced stripling, why not gain some ground from it? As the blunt instrument whizzed by, Fili stepped forward briskly and brought his hilt up to ram the flat end on Dain's unprotected nose.

The King’s Justice watched the Ironfoot move toward Fili, reading his intentions from the way he stepped. The Iron Dwarf’s weight was more strongly on the left, and Kili suspected he would bring the blow from the low left. Dwalin had opinions on Dain's fighting style, having his fostering with Gror. However, it wasn't a true understanding if the Dwarf thought to change his pattern at this late hour. The son of Fundin supposed that Dain could have been sparring so heavily to come at them differently should an opportunity come for a fight.

Fili got behind Dain’s guard, hooking the back of the injured leg with his foot. There were snarling comments from the Ironfoot who tried punching the hammer’s head at Fili only to miss. The Thane was already pivoting away to swing the bladed edge down upon Dain’s shoulder. The Ironfoot shifted clumsily, off balance but brought up the hammer’s thick handle to block the strike.

Fili leaned his weight into his weapon to bring pressure down upon Dain. At eye level, he sniggered. “Any Dwarf can fart in a cave and say that he commands the wind. It doesn’t make him any more than a blowhard.”

The next swing had power, there was muscle under that blubberous layer. The blow did not penetrate, but Fili was knocked sideways by the force. The hit robbed the King of his breath, cradling his lower body from the shockwave of kinetic energy to his chest. It took all of Dwalin's strength to prevent him from rushing the field and strand before his brother. A misstep sent Fili onto his back, but he scrambled up, heaving their father's axe to the ready. The double edge caught the sun in mirror radiance but the old trick wasn’t enough to blind his older opponent.

Dain was on him before the King could regain himself fully, bringing his hammer down on a jutting knee. The break was loud, though not so carrying as the gasps of surprise from the watchers. Fili rolled away to try and get his footing but he was in retreat. There was a hobble in the King’s leading leg, a weakness that the Iron Dwarf might exploit. Experience showed as Dain advanced with a bloody grin, hungry to dish out more punishment.

The Ironfoot roared and darted forward, aiming in his fury to smash Fili's head into his shoulders with a single downward strike. The King under the Mountain stepped left on the outside, chopping quickly at the Ironfoot's chest. He opened a gash on the Dwarf’s side which he didn’t seem to feel. They traded small hits for a time, but the wounds were deeper now. Pain was beating into them, taking the necessary strength to keep swinging. Fili’s knee was a problem where Dain was bleeding slowly from several wounds, but had not gone down from any.

They clash together, the rush turning the pair into a clumsy mash of grunting strain and clattering metal. Then scrambling, twisting and bending when training takes control of muscle groups to push the emotion to the background. Identical strategies emerged that only saw death as the end result.

Dain snarled at Fili as he brought down his axe in an overhead strike. "Ya cannae beat me, ye pathetic stump!..I've fought a nation of Orcs, Easterlings and still turded my chamber pot bigger than you!"

“I don't have to beat you.” Fili took the swing of the hammer against the handle, grunting at the effort. “I don't have to beat you, Ifthuzirin. I just have to keep you occupied." A great roar sounded from the east, a hundred throats bellowed in concert with Stiffbeard horns. "....until _she_ arrives."

Glorin and Bais took the field at once, on foot to stare at the eastern ridge as the Iron Dwarves yelled something indistinguishable. A large black goat bore the sweat of a fast journey, not ill cared, only rushed to meet this brawl. The Umli, Stiffbeards and what Kili assumed to be Ice Elves pressed back the Iron Dwarves to allow the entry. The horns of the shaggy beast curled tight with a metal plate to protect his face. A ridge of metal spikes three inches long ranged up the center to stop between the promontory of his head. If the beast enacted his instinct to ram that large head into an opponent, the horns would leave a blow but the metal spikes would kill it.  

Upon the back of so splendid a creature of war sat the Queen of the Iron Hills. Athane Kibil had come to Erebor.

Fury is the best fuel of all. It is so clean, so marvelous, so ruthless. Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, rage against evil is better than sorrow. Sorrow can’t balance the scales. Kibil was coldest fire and the most icy rage. The perfect example of a Stiffbeard ‘dam on the path of war and destruction. Where Dain’s anger as a Longbeard was all flash and bang of a newly lit log, her’s was longer, fueled by the injustice of a wandering husband.

The Stiffbeard Queen was magnificent, the most wonderful sight Kili had ever seen. She rode the goat right into the midst of the fight. Sliding down from his back she looked over the assembled with disgust. Her clothes were red with dust, kicked up by the thrust of a hasty passage. Her braids were askew, plaited days ago. The Ice Elves and Umli with her were in the same state, Frost Antlers sweated and grubby from a frantic pace.

“Your majesty.” The Dwarrowdam bowed at the waist, holding her pose until Fili stepped forward to take her hand. “I came as you have asked. The Iron Hills are yours, Thanu men, the council have agreed. Dain son of Nain has been gone too long for the others to still understand his reasoning.”

Dain pushed himself to his feet, limping to her in a towering indignation. The soreness of his distemper pounded down his body in the same manner of his stride. His warhammer, he left where it fell. The Umli parted on the rise to reveal a rigid formation of Dwarrow and Dwarrowdams, bellicose in their assent. The Iron Court rode for their Queen; they supported their Athane. No King might stand if his people turn from him. In one stroke, Fili won the battle and the siege.

“Mahal save us, female!” Dain screamed as he realized that all was lost. “What have ye done!?”

“I have done alt but was necessary! Now, where is my son?!” The Dwarrowdam bellowed as she looked around the host that stood before them. “Where is Thorin Stonehelm?!”

The troops broke aside as the Umli rolled them back, the racks of the Frost Antlers proving most effective. A steady thumped of four wide feet striking the ground carried through the stone to soak into Kili’s boots. The battle goat of somber patches leapt the rocky outcrop to land at the base, nibble and quick despite the burden it carried. The waverings of sound from the ranks of Dwarves upon the hill gained others as whispers on the wind became a gale of dissent. At this distance, Kili could see two upon the animal’s back, one clinging to the other.

When they neared and Vigdis was seen, many in the Company snarled in anger to press against the Stiffbeard host. She was ragged, cold and bloody. There were bruises on her face with mud caked into her beard and clothes. Her gambeson bore the rents of knives that had come at her, the snapping of wolves as they tore into her clothing. Her helm was missing as were her gloves, knuckles crusted with blood and fingers that looked broken. She had fought hard in the night, fought against her comrades, Dwarves she had ridden beside in war. Yet, for her injuries, Kili sensed none of the despair of the violated. A look of condensed rage masked her face as Vigdis held on to the Dwarf before her in the saddle.

Thorin Stonehelm looked no better than his cousin at his back. A purpled eye swollen shut was more garish on the redhead than it might have been on Kili. He was crusted with old mud but it was obvious that he was as filthy as Vigdis, having fought just as harshly as the Dwarrowdam. She slide from the goat’s back, her weight pulling at the Stonehelm making him wince in pain. A few ribs in that great barreled chest where aching this morning too.

“She was one of yours?” Kibil looked at Vigdis with concern. The Stiffbeard ‘dam looked back to Dain who refused her gaze back to her son. “A Dwarrowdam that rode in a sounder to be treated thus? And my son too? There has been no battle yet between Erebor and the Iron Hills.” Kibil looked to Vigdis as she scrubbed at her beard before lowering her head to the Athane. “Why have you been beaten and to what reason would my son feel the need to stand between you and injury?”

When Vigdis didn’t answer, the female stomped away. Kibil looked over the Dwarves who rode at her husband’s back, vibrating with rage. “A commander who neglected his warriors has no business calling himself a leader. No matter his trial, no matter his private pains, a leader always place his host _first_. That one would lay hands upon a Dwarrowdam for the purpose of ill treatment, I say let him lose his life!”

“Mother…I..” Thorin Stonehelm began but was cut off at a look from the wrath that consumed the Dwarrowdam. She wasn’t his mother at that point, not the female who rocked him to sleep but the Queen of the Iron Hills.

Kibil walked to her son, looking over his face with a tightening sense of fury. She snapped her head to spear Dain with a frightening stare. “Your own blood? You would not protect your own flesh? Vile cur!”

The Stiffbeard Queen met her husband, getting in his face to draw the short sword at her side. She ignored the rest and stuck him hard with the hilt low in the belly where Fili had sliced into the sheeting. The wound was painful, causing the Ironfoot to double over in agony. With his head lowered, she followed with an overhead blow at the joint of his neck nearest the skull. The rage was there still in the Dwarrowdam as she walked away, but so to was sadness and unrequited love.

The power behind the hit brought Dain to his knees. Despite his wounds, the Dwarf reeked of power. Dain had been born to this land where Fili had not, giving him to his mind, the greater claim. He had been vast here, while Fili rested in Dis' womb and Kili just a dream. He had been raised upon the Song of Steel and knew what happened when the melody came to a close.

The Ironfoot stayed at his knees as Kibil ushered away her son and Vigdis. There were greetings at the reunion but Kili watched none of it. Dain was still on the field and Dain bore watching. Fili understood this as well, his gaze never leaving the Ironfoot.   Glorin and Bais detangled themselves from their family to stride in their midst.

Fili leaned upon his axe to speak to Dain who refused his gaze. "I might spare you, give you exile."

Kili almost stapped forward, only to be stopped by Dwalin and Balin. The offer of that type made no sense, why give him mercy? This death was always coming, even back at the Great Battle. Erebor would never be safe so long as Dain took a breath in Arda.

"Ya cannae, for I will never stop wanting. ..her. None will ever suffice." Dain looked to the eastern ridge at the court members who now followed his wife and his warriors that wouldn’t trust him. “My home has abandoned me for my folly.”

Watch the death of your enemy if you can, for you have caused it. When you have killed, watch the consequences of your actions. Fili hobbled to the side, taking the axe to his shoulder. He was in pain from the fight but he would see this finished. While Kili would not have wished this moment upon any of his kin, he knew that in his heart Fili would grieve for the action yet would see it done.

"Then you shall wait for us in the Halls of Our Fathers and give thanks to Mahal for the years he granted you." Fili took a deep breath to recite the words of closing. “I, Fili, Baknul in the line back to the Eldest take your life as forfeit for your betrayal. May your blood wash away the taint of this atrocity and honor bloom anew in the life of your heir, Thorin Stonehelm. Know that he will take your seat in the Iron Hills as its Lord. Know that he will rule in my name.”

Every ounce of power he possessed went into the swing, every hurt and pain went as well. The axe glinted in the morning light as the stroke slammed the bladed edge into Dain’s neck. As sharp as it was, as strong as Fili was, it took but a single hit to cleave the head from the body. The dismembered head fell from Dain’s shoulders, falling to the ground in a thump. The blood gushed thick vermillion into the soil, a long life ended for greed and lust. So passed Dain, son of Nain, son of Gror to the Halls of Waiting.

Cold elegance of the kill would have assured any that Vali Axehand’s blood ran true in his son. Fili skimmed thick fingers along the blade, cleaning away the sheen of life. There was a moment of utter stillness. The noise that followed was a single snap of sound that echoed from the hills around them. The shock of the Ironfoot’s death was no small thing, not to Fili and not to the Iron Dwarves. The sun had risen on the day, bloody yellow and bright for a life to be taken.

Looking to the Stonehelm, Fili flicked the blade so that the harsh ring got his attention. The Dwarf seemed unable to tear away his eyes from the parts of his father. “You will take Dwalin and Kili with you. Every Dwarf you fought in the night to protect your cousin will be brought to the Great Gates.”

When he hesitated, Kibil’s head swiveled faster than a raven’s might to track prey. The wide glare made Thorin son of Dain cower before her, yet for a moment only. He found his backbone, straightening tall as the new Lord of the Iron Hills might in view of his Thrane’s presence.

“On behalf of Thulin’s Folk, arbiters to this conflict, we witness this peace,” said Glorin in a long sigh. “Binding until the long Sun breaks the world for Arda unmarred. May you find the joy of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure why this chapter was so hard but sooo wasn't getting into the swing of it... I had tried to play with the idea of keeping Dain alive, as everyone knows Dain dies at the Battle of Erebor in the Return of the King. I want to try and stay as true to canon as possible but honestly, it wasn't going to happen. Dain wouldn't have slunk off and left well enough alone. I thought about sending him into exile but really Fili has replaced him so the death was necessary in my opinion. 
> 
> The ending is sort of a mix of what I think the Inuit would think because to me, the stiffbeards live the same kind of life. They would have 6 mons of sun and six months of dark.
> 
> For the Darlings.. the next chapter is filter, wrapping up to the ending and saying goodbye to the Stiffbeards..Chptr 68 is the reveal to Dis.
> 
> Thank you so much to all who are still reading !


	68. Chapter 68

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time and again I've longed for adventure,  
> Something to make my heart beat the faster.  
> What did I long for? I never really knew.  
> Finding your love I've found my adventure,  
> Touching your hand, my heart beats the faster,  
> All that I want in all of this world is you.
> 
> ~ Ella Fitzgerald - All the Things you are ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A filler chapter to bridge the fight and the next chapter.
> 
> Warnings  
> Graphic descriptions of post mortem rites. Executions. Implied animal cruelty.

Kili sat his insolent donkey with an annoyed air. The tail whipped back at him, the long strands chasing a buzzing fly.

A week had passed since the Dain’s execution and Kili was no further in leaving. There had been no feasting, there could be no merriment at this last days. The royalty of Erebor found no comfort that the siege had been lifted with the Iron Hills back in their fold. While many would drink too much or laugh too loud in the open marketplace or the taverns, the Thane adopted a somber air outside of chambers. Too much upheaval, too many things had transpired for there to be anything left of it but solemn days of unending meetings and resolutions of new purpose. A son of Durin had degenerated to the point where it was necessary to take his life to save their tribe, they would never all such to happen again.

The death call continued from the Mountain like a mournful song, waxing and waning in turn. Eight Dwarves had been marched to the Great Gates from the Iron Hills ranks after Fili’s decree. Queen Kibil and her son had stared with empty expressions as the Dwarves were marched from their lines at the ridge. Eight Dwarves were beheaded the next day by Thorin Stonehelm, Olgr and surprisingly Vigdis. Finding these culprits had not been a huge undertaking. Everyone that was pulled from their formation bore wounding; cuts, black eyes, swollen hands that couldn’t be confined in their gloves. Of the two that Vigdis beheaded only one looked contrite enough to suit Kili but not Vigdis. She plowed her fist into his throat after kicking him in the stones. Then sawing a blade through his neck.

The bodies had been taken to the other side of the hill to be burned, not wanting to foul the plain with stench of carcass. So too had the Ironfoot. Kibil, his wife and Queen, had gone with the body, their son trailing behind in the procession. Dain’s body had been wrapped in ale soaked linen after the arms and legs had been sliced to drain the blood. Balin advised that Kibil stayed the entire time, watching each action to see that it was performed in accordance to their laws.

Fili had given her that concession, a chance to find the peace in herself at Dain’s death. No matter the smell of burning flesh, or carrion that sought a morsel, she never left his side. At the end, Kibil poured buckets of water over the smoldering bones before collecting them into a chest. Kili suspected she would take them home and be buried with them as the Ironfoot was denied that right here in Erebor. His flaming braids and beard had been shaved from his lolling head to now sit tied to a pike outside the Great Gates. He was a traitor to his tribe and none could say that the result wasn’t fair.

Sigrid had spent time with Kibil, the dowager Queen of the Iron Hills as she was becoming known in the Water Chamber. She was unable to distinguish how badly this might have scarred the Stiffbeard ‘dam, Kibil wasn’t open with her feelings. The cold was an enemy, yet it kept the Thulin's folk strong. The old did not suffer for long in such bitter winters, not with the ice that crusted their bones into frozen armor. The weakling children perished quickly. Sigrid put forth the probability that Kibil had encased her feelings in ice for the sake of her sanity. She had loved her husband, but love didn’t forgive always and for all things, only time heals.

The Iron Dwarves had left two days ago, packing up their goat pulled carts to head east. Thorin Stonehelm had stood before the King under the Mountain in the Throne room, swearing his oath in blood. Taking Fili’s axe, he cut the last finger from his left hand, pledging his loyalty until his last breath. Kibil, Glorin and Alvitr Udar stood at his back during the process in silent support and approval. He would not stand the betrayer like his father, he would not foreswear himself. Thorin Stonehelm had seen what happens to those with no loyalty.

 

Bain, Dorlad and the Elves had come from Dale to camp at Ravenhill with him once Gandalf had returned. They left the plains to the Iron Dwarves and others, wishing solitude now that the siege was done. They had feasted on deer and grains stuffed vegetables brought from the hall and casks of ale that they lugged up to the top near the old fortification. Kili found his companions to be the boon to his restlessness, a comfort. The Elves, he knew of little but Bain had warmed to them and Dorlad counted them friends. That was enough for Kili for the moment.

Being away from the Mountain also took him from his mother’s presence. Having her locked away during the combat had broken something between them. She loved Fili as did Kili, each sought to protect him in their own way. Now, Dis stared at him with a hateful expression, angry and absorbed were they in the same room. Fili tried to broach the subject once only to see his mother leave the room with a stiff spine and iron determination. Kili knew their relationship was crumbling too, anger at her meddling was a pressure that had broken families.  

The nights in Ravenhill under the stars reminded him of his headlong flight for his love. He showed the others markings of the crafter’s guild, his ancestor’s symbols in decaying walls. A great cadre of birds suffused them when any save Kili got too close, reminding the Dwarf Prince of the fact the Raven’s young lived in that place. The aerie was a place of protection for their chicks, their new generation that would grow in safety. Carc sat in a mighty nest, a place to one side since his mate had passed into death some years ago. His son, Roäc, held the court in the center with many bedding into the crevices according their murder’s hierarchy. Thrush were allowed a place at the fringe of bones and broken twigs, their perches were smaller than the great black birds.

There had been negotiations with Roäc over the idea of some of the Ravens coming to the Blue Mountains. Kili did not tell him that he planned to take Thorin’s hall as its lord, only stating that the Ravens were in a better position to keep communication open between their far holding and Erebor. Roäc, for his part, was not unreasonable. The bird’s thought was more to the fact of their nests were just becoming more plentiful and the first chicks born after Smaug’s demise had grown into adolescence. A small group of four young adults were becoming troublesome to the murder as a whole. Roäc agreed to think on Kili’s proposal but he warned of the Crebain were moving through the Greenwood. He was concerned about their continued insurgency.

Sitting on Warg, Kili could see the Broadbeams from his vantage, working with their sounder. Two figures schooled the animals but Kili doubted the daughter of their grouping was among them. Vidgis had been swept away after the first few days to the hall that Olgr and Verdandi had taken. Olrun resided there as well, in chamber at one end that she shared with Dwalin. The bruising had healed as had the cuts with only the faintest yellow to mar her pale skin. She was never alone now, either in Skuld, Eir or her mother’s company. Nori hovered in the background, a specter of constant vigilance. Kili had no word if her retinue was by design or out of love for there were still shadows in Vigdis’ eyes.

At the gates, Kili could see Dwalin marching out of the gaping maw of the open cavern, carrying a single head axe that he gave to Boron in farewell. He had been more disquiet in last days. His convergence from solely being the Captain of the Guard to a married man had hit several bumps and many had walked away with bruises. The ribbing had taken a different turn now that he resided in the Broadbeam Hall, with bets placed upon how long it would be before a child was announced. Whatever his personal thoughts on the last months, Dwalin kept his own counsel to say nothing of his relationship with Olrun. Dain had been an opponent to his happiness, that didn’t mean the tattooed Dwarf felt nothing at the death of his distant kin.

He was heard to say when asked about it, ‘Those with nothing but vengeance to live for are condemned by their own bitter victory. It eats you whole and shits out a half-life not worth the trouble of living.’ Truer words had not been spoken, to come from Dwalin was still a surprise. He may yet think upon Dain one day with pity, but not for many years to come.

A far richer sacrament waited Dwalin to be sure. A life of peace and plenty with a strawberry blond Dwarrowdam at his side to share it all. Envy wouldn’t avail Kili now, he could only express his happiness for the son of Fundin. Already the Captain of Erebor’s guard was more subdued, less suspicious of each person and every motive. Kili knew that happiness, had felt it every day in Tauriel’s arms. Shifting upon his mount, the King’s justice felt the longing for his wife, the need feel the movement of their babe beneath her skin. Thinning his lips, Kili’s restlessness grew as he watched the last departure, the last reason to hold him there.

Tired of feeling lonely in the night for want of his One, Kili made up his mind as he sat aback Warg out on the vale. He would leave in the morning. Weeks had passed since their parting, there would be days still until their reunion. Kili imagined her shape changing as their babe grew in her belly. The longing for her, to know she was safe ate at him. It was time for him to have his life and allow his brother the same. As King under the Mountain, Fili’s years were destined for more and with the peace, he would have more. It was time for Kili to grab his happiness and start his future. Far from here, where they could have a life of peace and plenty as well.

Word had come him this morning that there were Umli that were staying to apprentice with Grithur, the master armorsmith. They possessed some skill already and hoped to learn more. It was not the tribe’s way to teach outsiders the secrets of Khazad metallurgy. Each possessed their own artisans, a style that reflected the best parts of each folk. Metal was not in great need in the Far Wastes, the Stiffbeards and Umli used bone and antlers, petrified wood more than metal. The cold froze the metal to skin, prompting for more boiled leather and furs than mail. But Fili had agreed after speaking with Grithur. The Umli would be residents for the next ten years then return to the far north for Kibil Tarag.

The Umli aside from Bais’ unnecessary flirting, were a good people. They didn’t live so long as a Dwarf, might only live a century and some years where a Dwarf could live a century more. The Stiffbeards looked upon the Umli as family, as kin and no different than any. It worried Kili as he mulled over the grumblings he had heard of half Dwarf children and what was to be done about the mixed bloods that had been found in Dale. It brought to his mind the question of his own child, what problems they might face. Born of an Elf and Dwarf where present in the Umli, Boron himself the father of such a mixture. His words the day of arbitration had stayed with Kili, for he was proud of his family no matter their blood.

It was utterly wrong to treat this new blended race at Erebor any differently than Thulin’s folk might. The Umli commanded the upmost respect, not like they were each marks in a bag. Kili felt that those half Dwarves understood their worth to Thulin’s Folk, a currency of different denominations. They were the offshoots, the border people but valued as any child might be no matter the sum of its blood and ratio of Khazad in their veins. Fian would take the Mountain Throne one day as a child of two races. Until that far flung day, the question of these children would still be debated over ale and council chambers.

This day saw the backs of the Umli and the Stiffbeards, hence Kili’s need to remove himself still further from the Great Gates. The train of sleds pulled by mighty dogs was thrilling from this vantage. At the head of the column, Glorin with Alvitr Udar perched in the fur covered seat, bent at the waist to give calls to the team. He remembered watching Radagast being pulled by leashed rabbits and wondered at the feeling of the wind in your face at such speeds. The Ice Elves have left in the early hours to scout the trail for the groups to pass in safety. They were solitary, quiet and much apart from the others save the Umli who welcomed them as Kin.

A giant Nemrais broke from the column to gallop in Kili’s direction. The wide fold rack of antlers and snow white body bespoke the animal to identify his rider. Between the flat poll of the Elk breed sat Bais, wrapped in her leather rather than furs. The weather had turned to a pleasant warmth that would be hard on their northern brethren. They would leave today to push hard for home to catch some of the cold before it retracted completely.

Kili dismounted from Warg, tied up the reins into the bridle. The lively smirk that Bais wore in his presence eased across her lips as she dismounted as well. “I had heard you were upon the plain this day to see us off. Not hiding in the old fort?”

Kili sighed at her tone. When would she learn he wasn’t interested. “Thulin’s Folk and the Umli are allies to Erebor. I would not shame my brother by doing less. I have camped with companions now for I will leave them soon and know not when I shall see them again.”

The thick leather vest was cinched tight at the sides, displaying her curvaceous form in stark relief. A flat belly, likely as ridged with muscles in her arms, stretched to earth from large breasts. Longer legs than a Dwarrowdam but not an Elf, fixed with the same strength for Elk riding shored her frame. Her body type would suit another male. Kili wasn’t sure what Dwarf might risk his neck, though there were many in Erebor would had thought of it. Even if he was not married to his One and knew the joy of such a union, he couldn’t say he would have thought to cast his eyes in the Umli’s direction.

“You are leaving then?” Kili had felt awkward around the Umli since she had been flirting him with all the subtlety of a blow to the head.

For once, she looked sheepish. Her taller height negated was negated at their terraced distance, so she kept looking to the left towards the column that made slow progress out of the valley. That he wished her gone was a given, that she wasn’t leaving fast enough bothered him. _Greatly_.

“Yes, we are on the march for home so I wanted to give you a gift in light of your forbearance.” She gave a wry laugh at the end, making him wonder about what mate would make her settle into life. He would have to be most patient with so hearty a female.

She pulled a satchel that was cross slung at her body, the large pouch wiggled with a series of soft grunts. Curious, Kili watched as Bais pulled the flap open, taking out a small bundle of yipping fur. The pup was mostly dark, a white outer coat frosted the black closest to the skin. The Umli used both hands to give him the animal, her smile growing wider at his surprise. A black tongue flicked out to catch Kili unaware and take a swipe at his nose. Black paws with clear sharp nails scraped at his tunic, snagging on the cotton fabric. They were very, very large paws.

“I am surprised that you would permit a bitch of your teams to breed. Would that not caused a hardship on the return trip?” Kili continued to stare at the puppy. “I have no proper words and no gift. But thank you so very much.”

Thulin’s Folk had not expected to be in Erebor so long as they had. Gone more than half a year from their home, the tribe would face another month in warming weather to reach the far wastes to the North. Since they would miss a good bit of their spring hunts, Fili and Bard had agreed to send venison, fish and what vegetables that could be spared to help supplement what they themselves could not gather in their milder season. The Stiffbeards had come when they had been called, neither Kingdom would repay that with starvation.

“Yes! This one’s dam slipped her tie and was gone for a few days.” Bais waived off the mention of gifts or thanks, instead looking amused at the puppy’s attempt to lick Kili’s face. “When she was found, it was obvious she had been in a few fights.”

When Kili turned the puppy one way then another, the sun glinted off the eyes. Where they had been blue, they showed red. “Bais, who was the sire?”

But he knew, even as the animal squirmed a little then gave a wide yawn to show off a long row of milk fangs. He knew and didn’t have to ask, though the question of whether she would lie to him remained to be seen. The large size, the razor teeth, the black coat where most of the Rekikoirat were white or brown. The puppy hadn’t been sired by one of Bais’ team, not if she had been nosing around the surrounding hills for several days. In all likelihood, it was a Warg that found the estrus bitch and let instinct take over.

Bais was stiffened then the sheepish expression returned. “There were only two the survived the litter. Boron doesn’t believe the pups will grow thick enough through the shoulders to pull a sled. Not if a Warg or a common dog was the sire. We do not keep dogs for sport or pets, all must have a duty to support the tribe.”

Kili cradled the puppy, rubbing behind the ears as he watched the Umli female. She had a soft heart, not to kill the litter once they were sure of the lineage. In their own iced delvings, they would have done so that there were less mouths to feed. It wasn’t the puppy’s fault that her mother had spawned her, there was no blame upon the young. Something like that wouldn’t have happened here, pets were common in Dale but less so in the Mountain. Felines were seen in corridors to combat the legion of mice that had come home with the Dwarves. Kili just hoped Tauriel liked dogs as he held the struggling puppy.

“What did you do with the other?” He asked as the young canine began to whine in impatience to get down from his arms.

Kili hated the idea of the other puppy being left behind, hoping she gave it a good home as well. Whether the nature of the animal proved a problem later, no one could say. Rekikoirat had aggressive strains in their instincts like Wargs, but unlike the Orc mounts, they were not predisposed to evil. The puppy would bear watching until it was proved that it wasn’t a threat of some note. The question of whether it would live would be answered then. He would not risk his wife and child if the animal proved unstable.

“It was a gift to the King of Dale. His house is large and will be able to accommodate a large breed animal.” Bais smirked a little as she turned to walk back to take the reins of her Frost Antler as it grazed in a browned patch. There seemed to be an extra bounce in her step as the female moved across the rock.

Kili was taken aback for a moment then called out before he thought about it fully. “How do you know the King’s house? I thought you stayed at Erebor.”

The half formed idea came to him on the wing, making him blush suddenly at the idea of where his mind travelled. There were several reasons why Bais might have thought so much of Bard to give him gift. They need not always be of a lascivious nature, no matter that the Arbiter had made several indecent proposals to him in the past.

Bais sent him a shameless grin as she mounted the Elk. “The long winter nights are pleasurable when the heat is shared. The King of Dale is a kind and _giving_ Man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were dogs in Tauriel’s vision in the Mirror, I thought it fitting to show how they got there. The puppy will grow and its descendants will be in the sequel.   
> This was the second chptr where animals might be hurt so I think it is very necessary to note that I am not in favor of animal cruelty, no matter what is in the story. It happens despite how much money I donate every year to fight against it. I have read of instances where breeders will kill pups that are not up to standard or other such horrible things. So to a stripped bare society like the Stiffbeards, it didn’t seem implausible that if the animal couldn’t work for the tribe that the tribe could have no use for it. I am sorry for that.  
> Crebain are agents of Sarumon in Lord of the Rings. There are several notations I have read that suggest that was Radagast’s influence rather than Sauron’s. I am backing up their joining together here for the purpose of the story.


	69. Chapter 69

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This ole house is a-gettin' shaky  
> This ole house is a-gettin' old  
> This ole house lets in the rain  
> This ole house lets in the cold  
> On his knees I'm gettin' chilly  
> But he feel no fear nor pain  
> 'Cause he see an angel peekin'  
> Through a broken windowpane
> 
> ~ Rosemary Clooney - This Ole House~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings  
> Violence against women. Violence against pregnant women. Miscarriage

Kili tucked the puppy into the satchel as he mounted the stairs for the Grand Entrance. Warg was happily munching on some sweet feed, swishing his tail back and forth. Eat up, Kili thought as he took the stairs in haste, the grain will be rationed for the next few weeks. The puppy squirmed, twisting in her pouch with a yip. She would be problematic on the long trip but as a gift, Kili couldn’t leave her. She would be better off in the Ered Luin where Thorin’s halls permitted more outside access than Erebor might.

There was no reason to delay, no cause that he could think of to keep him here in the mountain. Kili would pack the few things that he needed for the return trip, storing what little could be brought later. He would say his goodbyes and then later met up with the others at Ravenhill to discuss leaving in the morning. Bit by bit, Kili felt peace at the resolution, the same way he found his way back to his friends. Or maybe they were there all along and he was finally awake to see it.

Rounding the corner to turn into the main avenue to the Throne Room, the King’s brother had to stop suddenly to prevent hammering into Dori who was in a right state. Huffing in agitation, the gray haired master of the Tailor’s Hall bristled until he saw who was before him. Letting go of some of his frustration in a deep breath, the eldest son of Ria clapped a hand on Kili’s arm as a smile chased away his frown.

Putting a hand on Dori’s shoulder, Kili pressed him back in concern. “Dori, whatever has you so out of sorts?”

Dwarves passed them, calling out greetings to both as a mass of bodies pressed inside. With the last of the caravan gone, the spectacle was over. The ones who had stood at the gates to farewell the peacekeepers were going back to their normal lives.

Remembering himself and his obvious mission, Dori explained. “With so many of the court ladies preferring the blue colors in support of the Athane, we are beginning to get low in every fabric type. The dyers cannot keep up.” Dori ushered Kili to walk with him, complaints still in tow. “We have some very fine greens and yellows that would make wonderful summer gowns and I had hopes of convincing Queen Sigrid to maybe ask her ladies for a variety. We can craft sunflowers, roses out of different cloth as the Iron Hills Dwarrowdams do out of lace.”

Kili fought back a smile at Dori’s tirade. Life was getting back to normal, all the more reason for him to leave. Hannar had been most vocal in the council chambers for a delegation to accompany the Stonehelm to ensure prompt iron delivery. The smiths in Erebor’s forges had exhausted their supply of ore, casting and recasting everything that wasn’t of immediate use. The miners were back in their shafts with stone cutters and sheep herders going out into the vale once more.

“Kili, your bag is barking.” Dori drew short to point at Kili’s hip. The obvious motion of a captured live thing in the depths made him snicker.

With an abashed grin, Kili heaved the puppy from the sack. Dori promptly oooo and ahh, a big softy for the furry canine. “A gift from the arbiter, Bais. One of a surprise litter.”

“A gift, huh.” Dori reached out to rub and ear as the puppy batted at him with large paws. “What did you _give her_ for such a gift?”

“Nothing! I think I shall call her Hati.” Kili drew back the animal with an offended huff. His expression turned speculative and sly. “Although, I think she was been spending time in Bard’s bed. Bais gave him a puppy too.”

Dori’s eyes bulged at the tidy bit of gossip. He motioned Kili before him as they bypassed the Throne Room for the Water Chamber. The doors to the main audience was closed, meaning that Fili was with the Queen. They snickered to themselves, not speaking further as they passed singles and groups of people. It had been a while since Kili laughed for the sake of laughing, of letting go. The last jokes he remember had been shared with Tauriel, an absent comment that made her laugh that transferred to hilarity.

Dori pushed open the door to reveal Sigrid propped up on a divan at the side of her throne for comfort. Fili sat at her back for support, rubbing her lower spine. The Queen was quite large now, making Kili almost giddy with the visions on what Tauriel would look like at an advanced stage. Sigrid was a beautiful woman but her legs were swelling and he could see the concern in Oin and Willa’s face when her name was mentioned. Even now, Willa sat not far away on a divan against the wall, talking to the Ladies Skuld and Thrud.

He was constantly amazed at this room, at what Sigrid had accomplished before she grew so large. The waved patterns was stunning, better than anything he could have envisioned. Kili had heard the tales of Skogul, knew the wrongs she had perpetrated upon Erebor. Those stories like so many had been fireside education in Ered Luin. Erebor had always been a mystical land, a place where the Valar's blessings crowded into the wealth of nations. The Great Smith poured his rich increase, helping the skillfulness of his children.

Thorin had told some of those stories. His uncle talked of how the life strands of friends and family might fray, because in some cases a legacy was too strong to bear. Now, he understood that Thorin was only half right. Kili realized that when lives are wound together, all the strands make something unbreakable. Something that lasts long after this life ends. Tauriel talked of the stars being keepers of memories and love that has passed into another world. He knew that stone had the same ability, no matter how profane and innocent.

The Striplings chased the boys around the room, letting them weave in and out of the divans. The Dwarves smiled at the boys as they streaked by, ignoring their parents’ admonishments to stop running and find some play in a corner. Kili could almost agree, the more they ran, the harder they slept. He knew he should be taking notes on the proper care of children, his own son would be here maybe this time next year.

Dori stepped forward to address the Queen with Kili standing at his back. He met Fili’s eye with a nod though his brother would likely know already that the others had left. Balin was in a position already, having probably followed Fili from the Throne Room. The white hair chancellor was standing to Fili’s left shoulder, ready for any discussion though Dori’s complaint was not of his caliber.

“Athanu Men, I would respectfully ask you to consider instituting a different fashion for this summer as the different blue stock of fabric is running dangerously thin.” Dori began but Sigrid halted him with a grin.

“I have been waiting for his conversation, master Dwarf. Although, I am surprised it took you so long.” A round of laughter filled the air as the door behind Kili opened and closed. “I have asked Silinde and the very accomplished Lady Skuld to hold contests over the next several months of the best dressed effort. Something that the Dwarrowdam makes herself rather than commissioning it from the Tailor’s hall. I love the color blue, dear master, but I have asked that any contestant use other shades.” Sigrid took a deep breath to rub her belly in circles. “Ah I do so love it, but I won’t bankrupt Erebor stores for it.”

His brother immediately shift himself to give Sigrid the space she needed. Willa half rose from the far divan to rush to the Queen’s side but was waived off. Fili and Sigrid had always been a loving couple, sometimes too loving. Once he had looked at them with dispassion, sometimes envy and longing for what he once had. Now, he understood their happiness and longed for the same.

“Dale’s stores are in need of replenishing, my Queen.” Dori continued with concern. “I have heard rumors that King Bard has already mandated his wool and leather to be stocked as we have rather than sold on the market this year.”

Kili found this aspect of government fascinating had found out only recently that there was a storeroom full of seeds and other goods in case of this type of eventuality. Dale had the same precaution, building basement storerooms beneath houses as a secret against invaders. The farming this year would be extensive as many of their dried stores were used to feed the Umli, Stiffbeards and Ice Elves. It would be a lean year or worse if nature turned away her face. The vale was to be used for this endeavor, pushing the small herds of sheep and cattle to the far side of the mountain for grazing. Kili drank it all in as a way to think of what he would plan for in Ered Luin when he arrived there.

His amad took the circuit of the room, walking into his eye line. Dori saw the Princess, her wrathful expression, and withdrew. He had not seen her upon his arrival, now her vermillion dress dominated his view. Kili couldn’t blame the Dwarf, his perfidy to his mother had not been quiet. Fili’s attention swept to her as well, before coming back to his brother. They shared a silence agreement, a union together for what might come.

“There stands my rebellious son. What manner have I dealt unto you to be treated so contemptuously?” The gimlet stare of his mother had held weight in another place, in another time. Kili found himself rooted in the spot, unaffected by her contempt. “Fili, it is time that we discuss what to do with your brother.”

He wondered when he became a prisoner to his race. Staring at Dis, Kili began the road to understanding that children were clay in the hands of their parents to be continuously molded until death. Where was it written that he was a piece on a gaming board, that Fili too was to be used for their mother’s purpose? He was an adult, a strong male of his family. Kili would not be bullied, nor coerced in this fashion that her stinging tone might suggest.

Fili and Sigrid both looked very uncomfortable at Dis’ comments, and honestly, Kili couldn’t blame them. He had not discussed his reasons for his actions the day of the combat, his Kingly brother had merely raised an eyebrow. There were more undercurrents in the room now, not just faux painting upon the walls and pseudo stars on the ceiling. Kili had wanted to approach his brother in a calm and deliberate manner to discuss his future rather than have this fight with his mother.

“I would like to speak with my immediate family.” Kili’s voice warbled in the chamber of no edges. Understanding the need for the chancellor in this situation, he placed a hand on Balin’s arm as the white haired Dwarf began to leave. “I need you to stay, please.”

The old Dwarf nodded as the room emptied at a slow ebb. Many shot looks to the Queen, to Dis and Fili as they left. Some dragged their feet, like Willa with continued stares to the Queen, expecting her to give the tall female a reprieve. Kili could not do this with so many in evidence. Too many eyes, too many ears that coupled into too many opinions. A long line of Dwarves were in this room with the blatant purpose of holding together an image of something that was both twisted and wrong. The deceit blanketed them from truth and honor, of seeing the past for what it was. But Kili was done with that now, when a Kingdom is infested with lies, the truth must be an exile.

Once the Queen’s guard closed the Chamber doors, Balin seated himself at an empty divan. The boys continued to run the room until Fili had enough. The Striplings left the room as well, herding the children into the general direction of their parents. Fian was more adventurous, running to Kili who presented his new puppy to the child’s delight. Vian sat in Balin’s lap with an oddly studious air.

“There has been gross misconduct on Kili’s part, things that we have overlooked in relation to … his old injury and his Elf’s flight from the Mountain.” Dis took a seat at a divan closest to Sigrid, directing her comments to the pair. “We have to come to terms that his mind might be…”

“Might be…What?” Fili spoke from behind Sigrid but Kili could see his annoyance. “He stood in defense of my Throne. Put his body in harm’s way in an insane gambit, _for me and my family_. There will be no talk about his mind. No disparaging talk, Amad.”

Life was not so black and white, yet a rainbow of colors to accent every emotion and feeling. His mother’s motivations might be the same as Kili’s though they approached the problem from different angles. Dis stiffened at the reference, keeping her attention on the King and Queen. Kili almost smiled at the metal that crept into her spine. That same metal was in his own, it gave him courage to fight for those things he felt were right in his worldview.

There had been a time when he had suffered a dreamer’s feckless view of responsibility. His amad, ever indulgent of her One’s last gift, squared herself often to battle her brother in Kili’s defense to spoil him as was the placement of a last child in their family’s hierarchy. But those had been was his stripling years, a gentler time. Feckless, or more adapt, reckless he had grown beyond those humors at love’s behest. And loss. The offered affection he found in the arms of a loathed enemy were unsurpassed.

“Since my mother has questioned my competency, I will discharge with the preamble.” Taking a deep breath he continued without further dissent, resolved in his decision. “Tomorrow, I plan to leave for Lothlorian and take Tauriel west. We will settle in Ered Luin, live in Thorin’s halls.” Kili held up his hand to still his brother’s immediate protest. “If I stay, I will find myself at odds with my love and this Mountain. I am as much a part of this tragedy as any of you. I know this, so I must step away and live the life that makes sense to me. I’m for home if you will permit it, Thanu Men.”

Dis’ response was just as quick and boisterously loud. “This is your home!”

Getting to her feet, the Dwarrowdam began to pace to chamber, making a circuit to avoid the Fian and the puppy. Her shouting had brought an interesting snarl from the small mixed breed, hopping out of the little boy’s arms at the source of the rising noise in the room. Kili almost smile at Hati’s protective stance.

“No Amad, this was your home.” Kili told her distinctly as Balin rose from his seat. Vian stayed where he was, watching quietly. “It is where your heart always lay, but not for me. There aren’t any loving memories here to offset the pain. Thorin, he..”

“Do not speak of my dear brother! Were Thorin alive rather than sitting in stone, there would be no talk of Elves and leaving! Marriage to one?!” Dis leaned into her words, gesturing at him from her position on the other side of the room. “Their lives are not ours, my son. They are different from us, have different values. Thorin sacrificed much for you, loved you and Fili like his own sons! He had his reasons for what he did!”

Vian shot away from Balin, running for his mother on chubby legs as Dis’ voice turned shrill with pain. It was too much for the little boy and soon, Fian followed. The divan that held Sigrid was a small trundle of covered pillows, four feet square to accommodate the Queen comfortably. Fili propped his wife up with some of the stray brightly colored cushions before he moved away from her. The boys snuggled into her side to get away from the feelings they didn’t understand.

What was this like?, Kili thought as he watched Sigrid and the boys, for a mother to see her child broken by others and one her closest kin? To see the pain written in scars on his skin, spoken in silences, in far off looks. How many mothers have prayed to see their sons, their daughters return from war only to realize that the war has kept them, the world poisoned them? He could not remember Dis’ words when she arrived so long ago, too much pain then and alcohol robbed his senses for months.

Kili spoke before he could check himself. “No, Thorin didn’t, no reasons that could be conceived as being true.” Taking another deep breath, Kili faced his mother with the things they had hidden from her. “Thorin _cut_ my legs while I was staked to a rock at the Overlook, for loving an Elf. Tauriel had raised no hand to him or us but saved me when Thorin left me to die in Laketown!”

“No! It was a mistake, lies..Thorin..” Dis interrupted, coming out of the shadows. “He loved you!”

Shaking his head at her, Kili let go of the secret that had festered since Rivendell. “He loved me? Thorin killed your first grandchild when he drove a Morgul arrow into Tauriel’s leg. She miscarried my son on the way to Rivendell, the Elves were not able to save him. A son of Durin never had a chance to live, to breathe in life, Amad. I never got the opportunity to _touch my babe_ for the actions of Thorin Oakenshield!”

The horror of that day came back, but the pain of loss swamped him before the anger took hold. He would never think of that day without the feeling all the negativity of the experience. Life had renewed, however, a child of his grew each day in the belly of his wife. Gritting his teeth against tears, Kili looked to the shocked faces of Dis who gave a cry of denial. She wordlessly looked to Fili to refute his brother, imploring him to say something, anything. Some many had refused to speak of that day to the Princess, only that Thorin had been not himself. How could the noble son of Thrain, a King, be so callous and cruel to one of his blood?

Sigrid hugged her babies close to her bosom as if to shield them from emotions in the room and the long overdue discussion. It’s how a family worked, communication. There are no secrets, they wouldn’t walk on eggshells anymore. Even if the truth hacked them apart to useless hunks of meat, it was worth the pain. This was why love was a dangerous emotion.

Fili walked away from Sigrid who cried out in surprised alarm at the admission. He laid a hand on Kili’s shoulder seeing the agony. “Tauriel was pregnant?” Fili asked with hesitation. “You would have had a son?”

Pain shared is pain halved but there could be no halving of the pain at the loss of a child. It merely increased to fill the void. Fili would bear such with him, the fear, the anger. As a father himself, he would know the feeling of loss probably greater than Kili. He had held his children, kissed them good night, said prayers with them at their bedside. His children were real in the sense of touch memory, Fili would always remember their weight in his arms where Kili could only imagine.

“Thorin would never have harmed a pregnant woman! Not even an Elf! He would never..” She broke off walking to clutch at Fili’s arm to pull him away from Kili, to distance him and herself from Kili’s words. “Tell me!”

Some truths are hard on the digestion, irritating the sensitive bits or clogging up the cognitive process. They couldn’t go back to what they had been. That life of the two young Dwarves with ideals and fresh thoughts of conquest that left the Blue Mountains with a company of eleven others plus a hobbit were not the same. They had seen war, known love, and buried the childish ideal of absolutes like right and wrong. There was no line that said what was right and what wasn’t. Every truth had a shadow attached that spoke of the intent behind each action.

Had they been slower down the Elven river would they have met up with Bard at the lakeside? If Tauriel not found her courage to leave her home for love of a Dwarf, would Kili have lived to make it to Erebor’s steps? If, had, maybe, perhaps. Fate had dealt them fairly in some things and cruel in others.

“I think he would have killed her then if he had suspected she was bearing, Amad. She had been beaten before she was brought to the Overlook. That is not the way of our people to inflict harm upon a pregnant female.” Fili continued, looking at his mother for the first time. “He was beyond mad, wandering the halls looking for that damnable rock. We will have no more secrets here.”

Dis started to cry, to sob but for whom Kili couldn’t say. The carefully constructed cocoon of lies that they had wrapped their mother was unravelling one at a time. The shriveled memories came of their time here, oozing forth into the light. It was no uglier now than it had been years ago, the fits and starts of a deranged King. Whatever his mother knew, whatever she had told herself was based upon the mendacity of her sons, for their love of her and her happiness.

“Balin!” Dis cried, looking at the old chancellor, someone or anyone to keep the deception in place. “Please! Tell me he wasn’t like Thror! Balin..”

The old Dwarf aged a decade with every step as he walked closer. A thousand memories called him their keeper, a thousand secrets that none should know or would see the light of day. Balin had been old when Kili and Fili were babes, he had lived long at Erebor in the last glory days. Each wrinkle and white hair testified to what he might have seen and never said.

“Princess, memories are dangerous things. You may relive them over and over, until you know every crease and corner, but still you'll find an edge to cut your heart a little.” Balin took a deep breath as he joined their grouping further. “Thorin was capable of great deeds, but also he could hate and he hated none worse than the Elves for turning their back the day Erebor fell. So, yes, I think Fili is right. Had he known of the Elf lass being with child, he would have killed her the night she was taken from the halls or upon the Overlook.”

Dis broke down and wept while Fili pulled her into his arms. Kili could not touch her though, not while she labored under the belief that Thorin was her brother and could do no evil. She had not seen him twisted nor the monster lurking under the skin. Tauriel had called it a crazed air, one of madness and calculation. The loss would haunt him as it still haunted Tauriel for all of their lives. The babe Tauriel carried now would not replace the first but it would make things easier to bare for them both. The years would tell the story of their love, something time and people could not erase.

“So…It was the Arkenstone, the rock that cause his madness.” Kili’s attention snapped back to his mother as she pulled from Fili to stare at what Balin was trying to say to her. “You should never have lied to me, sons of my flesh.”

Relief leaked into her expression first as a drip then, a steady stream. In that moment, he hated his mother a little for her thoughts were as plain as day on her face. Her thinking absolved Thorin of the crime because he had no knowledge of his actions, as if the wounding of Kili’s love was there by acceptable. She had not seen Thorin, never knew his madness, how the gold lust controlled him. Like Thorin’s lunacy was just that, hypersensitivity to a situation that he couldn’t control. Looking at her, Kili realized they have done unto her the greatest disservice. The Thorin in her mind was sane, whole and just as incapable of the atrocities he had committed. The Arkenstone was to blame for Thorin’s downfall.

The crime of their uncle was horrendous but theirs was of the same caliber. They had lied to her for so long or told half-truths to end a conversation, Dis refused to understand. What you do for your family, for love, can never be judged in the light of sanity. Their injustice wasn’t to a company, not like Thorin who raged against Elves and Men. No, it was to their own flesh, the woman bore them into the world from Mahal’s forge.

“What will you do now?” Balin asked Kili as he took to watching the mother and son. “The lass will not come to the mountain, will she?”

Kili looked to Balin as a seamless thought slid into place. Balin was chancellor to Fili, he had held the same position of advisor to Thorin all during their preparations and trip to Erebor. There was nothing that he didn’t know about the son of Thrain, having participated in just about every aspect of life here. For truth, Kili thought back to the weeks he and Tauriel had been in the Mountain years ago. Thorin could go nowhere it seemed without Balin and Dwalin in tow. They had to know what was about to happen to his wife, known and done nothing.

“I came to ask permission to settle in Ered Luin, in the halls there.” Kili told him emphatically. “I cannot live here now and I will not ask Tauriel to settle in these halls.”

“Lad, we are mounting an expedition to Moria. We would be happy to have you and the Lass come with us!” Balin smiled at him in welcome, holding out his hand.

Kili looked at the wide hand, with its thick fingers in suspicion. Moria was an Orc infested hole in the world that Balin harped about needing for the sake of itself. The mithril, the strategic value to Erebor could not be disputed, yet it would be a fight each day and night for more days than could be counted. Thror, Thrain and Dain had narrowly won it years ago but the cost of life was too great to keep.

For all his work and effort, the white haired councilor would ask for its lordship as was his right. But if he truly knew what Thorin had planned years previously, Kili could not trust his wife even if she were not bearing to such an expedition. It would not get him the simple life with his One that he so desperately wanted. No, Kili thought, he would pass and count himself richer for it.

“I thank you for the invitation but Tauriel is bearing. I was loathed to leave her but some things needed to be said.” Kili advised the son of Fundin, not seeing his brother detangle himself from Dis. Fili crashed into him, hugging him closer than they had before Kili had left. “I cannot take her into Moria where we will be fighting Orcs and Durin’s Bane. As I have said, there has been enough death and she will need a quiet life for a while.”

“You shall have it.” Fili told him as he pulled away to hold his brother at arm’s length. “Take up our halls there, brother, and live your quiet life. You and your wife shall be known to us as the Lord and Lady of Ered Luin and the title shall pass to your son.”

Kili looked to his mother but found her gone, to a place he knew not where. She had left the room, as quietly as a specter slipping from between shadow into the darkest night. His mother refused them in her leaving, in her silent withdrawal. It was the greatest failing of a strong individual was when they don't believe the worst unless it happened to them. See it with their own ears, watch it with unblinking eyes. The chasm of lies and dissidence between them stretched their family to its thinnest point. Dis had walked away without a word to him about his expecting child, it was as if his and Tauriel’s children didn’t exist to her. Kili could see that life strand snapping very easily for his own mother couldn’t acknowledge his lost child without condemning her brother nor offer congratulations for his forthcoming child that would have Elven parentage.

There had been no closure for this tale, no ending that might elevate his soul. His mother wasn’t Thorin, nor could he seek restitution for the worst memory of his life from her. Dis would believe or not at her own choosing one day. She would remember Kili as she first seen him upon her return to her homeland. A broken shell, a hopeless invalid who once wished for the Lonely Mountain but whose dreams had turned sour. Maybe then she would understand the truth of what her brother had done and the lengths her sons went to save her the pain of it. Time would give her fortitude to come to him one day, to see the family that grew from he and Tauriel and witness the love they shared.

Sigrid sat taller, pulling Fian from beneath her skirts. A wobbled smile graced her lips as tears splashed rosy cheeks. “Congratulations, my brother, for the child that will come to you and Tauriel. Take our love with you and remember there will always be a place at our table for you and your family. Where you live isn’t important anyway. It’s what lives in you, what you pick up each morning to carry through the day that matters.”

Fili walked back to her, kissing her outstretched hand before taking a seat at her side. “What you carry defines who you are beneath the skin. Make no mistake, brother, you take each of us with you. Our bond shall live on and we will have then happiness of many children to our old age.”

Those events at the overlook were so real that they cast their shadow forward and backwards through all time, whenever individuals think of these matters at all. When Tauriel had been stabbed in the dawn’s early light, she didn't give him a vendetta. It was an unfortunate and unforeseen circumstance in a series of many such mistakes. She took the banishment for _him_ , because of a dream of love that could live on in their son. Their child was to be the keeper of that dream. Someone who would have built a bridge no matter how imperfect at the start to heal old hurts and allow for new hope to races that had warred for far too long. The Gods in their bias had planted the seed only for ignorance to crush it before it could grow.

Kili, himself knew that he had become something different, not the Dwarrow of Vali’s lineage nor the Dwarf he wished to be. The shattering of himself placed hurts upon those he loved. They, for those long years, bore the brunt of his ill humors. So he didn’t go spitting anger and hate at his mother for being short sighted. Dis drew her strength, this inflexibility of Dwarven nature, from the same root from which he drew his own, both the good and the bad, because in the end, they could not be separated. Kili would fight against her obliviousness. He was fighting for their dream, for their family that was alive and the ones yet to come.

The King’s Justice knelt at Sigrid’s side, pressing his forehead to her hand. He looked first to his Queen who he called sister and the brother who had saved him again and again. “I am Kili, son of Vali. Your brother and your sword. I will dwell in the halls of our childhood and raise my family to your name. Call me, if ever you have need and I will come to your side. You are my family, my love goes will always find you. Should any foe walk the vales to Erebor and challenge Thanu Men again, it is my sword that will meet them. I shall ride them down, and knock them from the face of Arda with the fury of the Great Smith himself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hati’s name comes from Hati Hrodvitnisson, the Norse god of solar eclipses in reference to her color. I thought about using Fylgjas (the spirit animal) but the description weirded me out a little, might come up later and I will just ignore where the name comes from.


	70. Chapter 70

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Violetta]
> 
> With you, with you,  
> I'll be able to share  
> my cheerful time;  
> Everything is crazy, crazy in the world  
> what is not pleasure  
> Let's enjoy (the pleasures),  
> fleeting and fast is the joy in love,  
> it's a flower that blossoms and dies,  
> neither it can be enjoyed longer  
> Let's enjoy, it's calling us,  
> it's calling us an ardent flattering accent
> 
> English translation of the Brindisi from La Triviata by G Verdi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reunion..

Silvans, Sindarians, and Noldo, Calaquendi. Half Elven, full blooded. Having been born of the First Folk was not a right of privilege, it was not a guarantee of good influence. The loving glow of Eldar grace was no ward against the insidious tide that sought to plant a seed of evil. Morgoth, Mairon, a dark side to a light bound children of the Valar waged war for greed and lust. There is a natural feeling to believe that malignant forces should always wear an ugly face. It is almost a betrayal when they do not.

There was weight, a consequence to perceive the justness of a situation when someone takes a leader’s mantle. They stand in the footprints of those who came before them, to be as worthy and as mighty. The throne these giants occupied was a lonely place, full of heartache, loss and tiny pockets of joy. Each must fight for the right of their people, their race to greet each new dawn.

There were none who felt this more keenly than Galadriel this day. She looked upon her meadow, the Golden Wood with a sense of awe at what they had accomplished in the years since they travelled from the west into the east. Strolling amongst her realm, there was a solitude that she had not known in other lives, in other places. Wars, strife, hatred and unpardonable sins mixed her past in a bog of hurt and misunderstanding. This mantle she wore was not easy, her soul ached with the strain and none so much before as it did now.

In the distance, she could see the Silvan walking with her herd, alone and apart from the others of the cloister. The Lady of Light could feel her wardens in her domain, knew their proximity to her and their guest. Benign protection for the pregnant Elf, and concern for her continued health. Tauriel’s dreams were a tangled mess of blood and shuddering trees. Orc laughter and the clanging ring of war. It was Galadriel’s fault that the bearing Elleth wore the pain of those dreams now, would have to make a difficult choice in the years to come. Her babe was growing daily, would no doubt understand her mother’s worry. The guilt the Lady felt multiplied at her error, would be that much worse if the child suffered.

The daughter of Finarfin possessed no sinister intent to the Silvan wife of the Dwarf, trying to build houses on a moral high ground where everyone was guilty so everyone was safe. She could not pass away the remorse as she could her harp. There was old blood from old wounds that stained Galadriel’s hands red if she looked too closely. Some nights she dreamed of the light of the Trees, Silmarils and the abiding love of family that turned to hate. Those mornings, like this one, saw her in the Wood, looking to escape the long memories of things she could not change.

It was Arwen, the Twins that Galadriel fought to see live. Her family that was untouched by the long ago kinslaying pushed her to approach and educate Tauriel on the future. A future for all to live in peace and love was not so very much to wish. The husband of her Daughter might say as he pleased, employ his own ends to prevent the marriage of Heir of Elendil to the Undomiel but fate was not unkind to those of conjoined hearts. The Elessar was reaching manhood, the time of their love would come and the war that followed. What followed was undecided still though it would see the ending of the Elves of Middle Earth and the end of the Exile.

But there was happiness too in the intervening years. It is almost impossible to describe the happiness a family can bring, because at the time it feels entirely natural. All the rest of your life has been the aberration; only in retrospect does it swim into focus as the rare and precious thing it is. Tauriel had not been looking for love that day when she saved the Dwarven archer, yet it was there all the same. A beautiful connection had grown between them. The same connection that would grow one day between Arwen and the son of Arathorn. Beren and Luthien.

When this happiness is present, it seems to be eternal, abiding forever, and there is no need to examine it or clutch it. Later, when it has evaporated, you stare in dismay at your empty palm, where only a little of the perfume lingers to prove that once it was there, and now is flown. That sense of loss was difficult to bear in Elves, they had no thought to live if their heart of hearts was broken. It is why they fade, it’s why they sail home if it the voyage is possible for them.

Tauriel had lost a child once, was parted from her husband for years. If there was anyone who truly understood the loss that Elrond faced at Arwen’s death, it would be she and Galadriel. Yet, the knowledge gave the Ring Bearer no comfort. Galadriel had taken no joy in the means that she employed to bring about this end, for Arwen’s life choice to be with the son of Arathorn. Galadriel found none now as the Elleth walked an unsteady gate from exhaustion to the take a seat upon a tabled rock.

She was fierce, this child of Mirkwood. Six hundred years and some had not pushed the rashness and folly from her personality. Her wild Silvan blood had not settled as others had, breaking convention to love a Dwarf of all creatures that Arda hosted upon her skin. This love was the binding tie to a future for all the First Born yet to come. Silvans were so unabashed, so giving. The Lady of Light could see why Legolas, son of Thranduil might have been captivated by the open bonfire that burned Tauriel so bright. So many moths to her flaming soul and it was the Dwarf that was destined to be her love.

The daughter that grew in her belly would be strong as her mother, a blended force of two races. Her life span would be longer than a Dwarf that much the mirror had shown to Galadriel of late. She would find a home far from here, the lands of her people. A new life, Galadriel thought with a smile as she watched a spotted pony crest the rise to the North, new loves. The rider bent low on the animal’s withers as three riders galloped behind him.

It isn’t always the choices that matter in the end. Not wishes, not words, not promises. The Lady of Light wished to any god that might lend her an ear, the choices of an Elf and a Dwarf might save the children of her daughter.

*******************

_Kili_

He didn’t leave the next day, not until late morning of the day after that.

Preparations were underway for a caravan to go to Ered Luin, especially now that there would be a new Lord to sit in Thorin’s halls. Word had spread like a rockslide, whispers in the dark caverns and shafts. The King’s justice was leaving to take up the seat in the Blue Mountains. Supplies of raw ore, a better grade than was found in western mountains, once it arrived from the Thorin Stonehelm. The caravans would run both ways now, shipping to that far flung place. There were other things of importance sent along the trade route, gold and precious stones that were not found in the west. The Blue Mountains didn’t have a rich ore, like Iron Hills or other places. The Wars of Wrath had left them broken like rotting teeth in an Orc’s mouth.

Ered Luin had been a safe hold, where not only Durin’s folk might settle into a life. Stiffbeards, Umli, Firebeards and all clans would be welcome there as well as Hobbits and Elves. It wouldn’t be so hard on the newcomers, not like the Dwarves of his youth. Many of the Durin’s folk had not forgotten that their halls was given to them rather than a delving that was theirs by ancient rite. The blood they had spilt was many many miles from the Blue Mountains, a place of sorrow and pain. The tenor of their life there had sour notes, not the fluidity of peace of spirit.

Dwarves of Ered Luin were aware of the hardships they endured, of what the races of Middle Earth thought of them. Wanderers, vagrants, hopeless for something better, despite taking back their ancient home in Erebor. The memories of a displaced people who lost their home, then lost a large number in a fool’s quest for Moria had not died along with the population. Fili had worked hard to repair that image in the heads of the others, but Minas Tirith wasn’t built in the space of a moon cycle.

Kili wanted those he knew to stop accepting the minimums - to confront them. His people must not just give in to the worst that life had to offer, they must find a way, even in these environments to develop hope. It was the only way Kili could see the nation of Khazad having the pride to reach out and find their own place in this world. It was the only way for them to find hope for themselves, hope for their delving and race. That way they could look upon the Arda, not as less but equal.

What was needed wouldn’t be changed in a moon’s turn. The attitude toward Tauriel would be harsh in the beginning, yet he felt certain that it would improve once the She Elf became a known entity. He wanted to wipe the slate clean, start afresh. The pages of their lives were renewed like the budding Golden wood, so why not incorporate every aspect of life that Arda had to offer? Men, Hobbits, Elves and others to make a people as strong as the Umli in the Far Wastes. He would have tales sung that rang louder than any hero of any other race, to quake a Mountain, to vibrate the Halls of Waiting and awake his ancestors in glorious splendor.

The main problem at this stage in his chaotic life wasn’t the challenge of his wife being an Elf in the delving but his Amad. Dis had let it be known that she was taken Baglûna, and refused admittance. She had gone so far as to withdraw from the Royal suites in a veiled procession to take chambers in the Dowager Hall closer to the Grand Entrance. To take Baglûna was not unusual for a Dwarrowdam who had lost family or had been unlucky in attachments. Dis had taken a month of such seclusion when Vali had died years ago. But two strong willed boys had brought her from her depression, now Dis faced their discontent at her actions and feelings. The Lady Verdandi had told him that only an Oin and she were allowed beyond the threshold while the princess contemplated the current situations of her life. Denied his farewell, Kili took the road in haste to get as far from Erebor as possible.

Fili had understood, promising to tell him of any developments if Dis broke her enforced isolation. It didn’t set well, to be so at odds with her. Dwarrowdams were a law unto themselves, she would stay secluded as long as it pleased her. Looking back over the memories that floated to the surface of his awareness, there were times of confusions where she would speak of Elves in neutral tones then discuss new arrivals of the caravans. The subject was slimly wrought in Sigrid’s presence as the Dwarrowdams had never bent a knee as they should to her. Kili wondered now if it was a beginning attempt to stimulate his interest in the females of Erebor.

The miles and time spend by in a blur from Warg’s back with these thoughts swirling like a tornado at each free moment. He hadn’t meant to be rude to Bard and Bain and the refusal of a stay in Dale, maybe his last for some years. He loved them like family even though the idea of a bed might seem like a fantastical invention after the next week and some of trunking down on the ground. Tauriel was his family, his wife and the mother of his children, and he had been away from his heart for far too long.

The parting gift of good journey was accompanied by a bag of seeds from Dale stores. Fruit seeds and acorns for a grand forest was as spectacular to an Elf as to any Man who tilled the land. It gave rise to an idea that Kili had for something that would be Tauriel’s alone, a place for her to connect with the earth as she might have in the Greenwood. He still remembered the look on her face when she had raced to the tree line of Mirkwood, the abject needing to race through bough and branch of her memory.

Dorlad and the Elves understood his speed, following his lead for the most part. Elrohir had to remind him a few times of the young pup’s need to walk and relieve itself. Kili wasn’t trying to neglect Hati, she was vocal in the same yodeling way that the breed was wont to do. The furry female rode in her satchel on his hip, growling sometimes if she landed too hard on his leg if Warg bucked or jumped across a berm. The long day of travel through the Mirkwood, he had tied a harness to her letting her walk but not get away. He could feel how the forest was alive and might take his little terror on four paws for its own.

The Mirkwood itself yielded none of the Elves that it had previously. The morning they crossed the boundary into its verdant depths, Kili had met Elrohir at the entrance. It surprised him in that moment, though the son of Lord Elrond said nothing of the encounter. The new Lord of Ered Luin thought it was strange but as they met none of the inhabitants, he realized that the Elf had told them already why his group would be in the Greenwood that day. Thranduil stayed in his cavern palace and the wood Elves watched him as they travelled on. He had no fear of them, not as it might have last fall, but he couldn’t allow it to stop him. He was bound for his love, and would brook no argument from the others.

It was only when they reached the long stretch of the Anduin, travelling south to Lothlorien that Elrohir divulged his acquaintance. Thranduil had made an impromptu visit to the Lord and Lady before going to Dale, runing into Tauriel at the outer fringes of the wood. His guards would hold the secret if Thranduil had asked but there had been no such conversation. The guards had returned telling any of their clan of how Kili’s wife had stood down the Elven King along with her horses at her side. The Lady of Light had refused to allow Tauriel to be taken back to the Greenwood despite Thranduil’s continued protests. The last part through Kili into a tailspin of indecision whether to return to the Mirkwood to challenge the Elven King or continue to Lothlorien posthaste to check on his wife.

The problems of his life coasted to the side as he sped for the Golden Wood. He had been from her too long and rotting in those cavern jails would not serve him. The worry would compound in Tauriel, endangering their child. While reckless in life, he would never be reckless with his wife and child, no, the Elven King would wait and so would Kili’s vengeance. In his future, Kili knew that he would return to Erebor if only to see his brother once more and find peace with his mother.

The murder of ravens overhead cawed a signal of their return. Five had departed from Erebor with the band, staying to the skies but hopping around the campfires at night for conversation. Muninn was their leader, older than the others by his hatching. Proud and savvy, they would swoop in to advise of any obstacles they saw such as Spiders or troops of Wildmen that were moving around the bottom edges of the Greenwood. Dorlad had paused at this telling, concerned that these vagrants would be out of their lands in Rohan.

Kili felt the moment he was closest to Tauriel. The snap of awareness punched him as he crossed an invisible barrier into the realm of the Lady of Light. He maneuvered Warg, feeling his way to her side. He bent lower, trying to urge the pony to a faster speed. She was close, maybe just over the next rise. Too much time away had hurt, opening a canker that he had thought healed. The situation with Dain was not of any use, other than to give him an outlet for his frustration. When Kili crested the next rise, the breath he had been holding barked from his bound chest.

She was a bright firelight in the awakening world, all shimmery, dancing color. It left him breathless where the sun set her to burn his blood in his veins. Seated on a large rock, Tauriel was as poised as any image, as beautiful and true as the Dawn. Warg’s bellowing squeal to a brown mare, then a leaping gallop broke his revelry at her stunning grace. The answering call from the mares had her looking around the meadow, staring at him in wide eyed excitement.

Kili shed the torpid weight of misery that he had known realized went so deep in his soul. So deep down in the pit of himself that no amount of tears would have filled it. Yet, there she was, his life and love, skipping towards him. Elation, a word to describe so much but it was his word of the moment. Kili was purely elated. Jumping from Warg, Hati growled in wiggling displeasure as her master continued the assault on her carrier with his gated run to his love.

Kili knew a true homecoming from how he could feel the pressure of her softness down to his toes, how her fingers seemed to burn against his jaw where she touched him. He learned in that instant how a single kiss could make him want to burst into laughter and tears simultaneously. She knew him and yet, he couldn’t quite recognize the female who had grown large with his child. Her sturdy hips, slim and muscled, felt padded with a softer down that Kili had not associated with Elven kind. There too was the swelling hillock where once had been a flat plain. His child grew and had captured the valley that Kili thought he knew by rote. The thought of his child being so large, excited him and yet, made him sad for the time from her that he had missed.

Tentative fingers touched her face. Kili ran a thumb along the wet skin of her cheekbone. She cried harder, his stoic wife who never wept, splashing his face with salted emotion. They were both, they were always. It was the meaning behind their kind of love, a love that lasts beyond this life and what happens after. Whether he ended his life in stone surrounding by his family or floating in the ether that was the game board of the gods, Kili wanted her there.

Tauriel closed what little distance was left between them, one hand sliding through his soft hair to tangle into his braids, the other skating for purchase at his back. Kili lifted her into his arms, carrying her to the rock she had fled as Dorlad yelled a greeting before they set off for Caras Galladhon. His lips were on her neck and hands wrapped around the back of her head, holding Tauriel close.

“I missed you every hour.” Tauriel whispered against his lips, pushing him so that she might see his face clearly. “And you know what the worst part was? It caught me completely by surprise. I'd catch myself just walking around to find you, not for any reason, just out of habit, because I'd seen something that I wanted to tell you about or because I wanted to hear your voice. And then I would realize that you weren't there anymore, and every time, _every single time_ , it was like having the wind knocked out of me.”

“Never again, my heart.” When his hand slipped to her breast, hidden from by the material of dress, her own was there to stop him. Confused at her reluctance, Kili withdrew. “Shall you deny me, wife, when I have been so long from your side?”

He had been in a jesting mood but her gimlet eye made him realize that there was something he didn’t know in the question. “Meleth, while you were away to settle with your kin, a bond has been established between our babe and myself.” Tauriel took his hands in hers but slipped aside. “I speak the name Iell and the babe answers but we will need to gift the child with a name and it must be soon.” She looked embarrassed, her face flushed to the point where her ear tips turned an enchanting crimson. “Iell senses my life, knows what I know. It is expected for couples to refrain from congress once the strand of communication is forged between mother and child.”

Kili was taken aback for a moment but it had been known to him that it could happen. Tauriel talked of song emanating from their children at different points in development. It could only be true that the singing become words and child become sentient with only layers of flesh to protest him as he grew. Although disgruntled, he could see the uncomfortable nature of sex with his wife with his son as a witness.

Pulling her hands to his lips, Kili kissed the tips of the strong lengths. He was rewarded with her nails digging into his beard to scratch at the sensitive skin the way he enjoyed most. “I would abstain from your body, Ghivash, yet I beg you to let me lie at your side. We need not fall into passion..but..”

His fingers glided over her protruding belly sliding against the material of her dress, a watery slick feeling of cloth that she would never have picked for her own in Mirkwood. The rolled sensation of her belly greeted him, giving him a peace that he had longed for in Erebor. Her own touch greeted him, showing him where to rub so that he could feel the outline of his child. Khudzul fell from his lips, unconscious, prayers to thank Mahal, Aule and every Valar in the heavens. He was rewarded with the stamp of a sound kick that made him laugh.

Kili lay back on the grass and opened his arm as Tauriel slid next to him. This was what he wanted in life, what was best for them. To hold his love and feel her breath on his neck as her hands gentled his thoughts. He told of the situations in Erebor, in Dale. They laughed about Bard, and the antics of the Dwarves that Tauriel remembered. He couldn’t bring himself to fully explain his mother, saying only that she was in seclusion over some truths that had come to light. The ending of Dain Ironfoot was not a rich and vibrant tale, yet Kili gave her the basics of it. He spoke of Sigrid’s advanced size of impending birth and how large the boys had gotten.  

It was only the mixed hissing snarl that reminded him of the puppy still trapped at his side. Drawing Hati forth, Tauriel had laughed at the little ball of fur that scampered about them. Elven words that found themselves into song fell from her as she scratched fluffy ears. She sang to Hati who rolled over and presented her belly, the song rolling into a lilting refrain of their child. Kili gripped her tighter as the intensity of battle urges flowed along his nerve endings to protect his love, protect his child.

Tauriel stopped immediately, touching his face to draw his focus. “I am sorry, my love, Iell was curious of the puppy. Singing to her helps her know that all is well.”

It took him a few minutes of breathing to reconcile the gender distinction. Kili straightened suddenly, pulling away from Tauriel to look in her face. “Her? You are bearing a female?”

Hati gambled into Tauriel’s side, rubbing her face along the closest leg. She took the puppy by the scruff into her lap with a confused expression. “Iell means daughter, Meleth. I thought you know this..”

“No!”

Kili laughed genuinely, pulling her face to his for a kiss. Their lips met in a smile that quickly ripened into something more. They were in the process of getting closer when Hati growled, nipping at Kili’s leather vest as she became mushed between their seeking hands and shifting bodies. They laughed together again, separating to allow Hati to hop free.

Names flew back and forth, girl names that would suit their child. Tauriel had put forth his mother’s name, for which he immediately discounted. He would leave that to Fili if he wished to honor their mother. Considering her actions against the mentions of his marriage, he would demur. A daughter, he mused with a smile as his wife continued to throw out names that she knew of her limited Khudzul.

“Why not Eliel?” He asked as the day wound into evening. “A daughter of stars?”

Tauriel studied him, watching his face as her fingers danced upon his sleeve. “That is a very Elven name, my love.”

“Will not you be her mother? Our child will have Elven blood, give her a name she might be proud to say.”

Their daughter’s blood will be remarked upon no matter her attached name. Whether she bore smoother features as her cousins did, imparted to them from Mannish blood or tall as others would agree after seeing the Umli, it would be unmistakable. He had wished upon stars as had Tauriel once, and their wishes had been heard.

His fiery wife drew him into her arms, kissing him soundly once more. “She will be proud to call you father, my love. Dwarf, Elf or Man, she will love you. What is the Khudzul equivalent?”

“Gimlnathith. I have a cousin already named Gimli. No reason to give him airs!” Kili grumbled as he drew Tauriel into his lap.

“Eliel, then.” She whispered against his neck to give him a warm shivery feeling. “Come, should we linger, our host will think us rude.”

He rose, setting her upon unsteady feet. The mares cavorted with Warg, nipping at him then bouncing across the meadow in a very high spirited game of equine tag. Tauriel whistled to get their attention as Kili scooped up Hati. It was easier for her to use the insolent’s donkey’s sweetheart to get him in tow than any trick up his sleeve.

They walked together, hand and hand with the steady beats of horses’ hooves fading in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok.. we are getting down to it.. The chapter 71 is Rivendell, then what follows are the 3 epilogue chapters and the last chapter will be the Glossary of all the OCs from the work.   
> Eliel was chosen because I wanted something to reflect a purely Elf name for the first child. Cassidy and Co. have given a ton of great names that I am incorporating into names for kids in my modern series, because I just love them..  
> Muninn was one of Odin’s ravens.
> 
> Baglûna is Khudzul for rust but as a feminine form. I have not given the absolute seclusion a name before now because I wanted to see how far the chapter with Dis would go. Bagluna is different than the arrest that Herja was subjected as hers was not voluntary.
> 
> I left out another confrontation with Thranduil because he had already been slapped by Tauriel. There will be a 'discussion' with Legolas in 71 to tie up that end. For those who are reading Sad Tales, there will be an update hopefully next week with Hugrinn and Thrud. Chapters 71 and 72 will have to be posted before the Saruman chapter is worked out, then the last chapter of Sad Tales will be Dorlad's.


	71. Chapter 71

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a place for us  
>  Somewhere a place for us  
>  Peace and quiet and open air  
>  Wait for us  
>  Somewhere
> 
> Westside Story - Somewhere Lyrics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tauriel's POV then Legolas and Kili

The soothing balm of gentle breath upon her cheek was not uncaring, her horses paced at her side rather than graze. They knew she had not slept well, that she was agitated by prophetic dreams. Figures swirling in mist, sometimes they were specters, others they were so real as to command fear for her life. Veils of blood would rain upon her, Orcs of marbled skin, large beasts of frightening rage. One would set itself apart, calming the worst as stock and stone, water, even the air froze to watch and wait. From the quiet, the voice rolled through the world, holding depth and memory of the storms greater than what could be seen on the sea or in the air.

Sauron, the pet of Melkor, walked in form to steal and destroy.

Kili at her side helped dispel the worst, awakening her to arms banding her growing body. She would rise as she did now, to walk the trails leading to the open meadows just beyond the gates. Tauriel hated the restlessness, the fear. It did, however, strengthen her resolve. She knew that refuges of serenity would always be a target for malicious forces. Rivendell, Lothlorian and others would be the first places to strike in a war. Any battlefield commander knew to attack havens, to break the spirit of the opposition before moving on to secondary targets like the Shire, possibly Dale and Mirkwood. Looking around the peaceful sanctuary, it broke Tauriel’s heart a little at the thought of it destroyed.

Their journey to Rivendell had been arduous for her, though her husband and the Elves that accompanied them made every effort for her comfort. Yet, two weeks of mountain travel had hurt her back and legs to constantly stay in the saddle. The weight of their newling at her middle was much more pronounced than it had been. The Twins had been most vigilant as had Kili at any possibility of attack by Orcs. Arwen had in her own quiet way attempted to sway her to stay in Caras Galadhon but Tauriel could feel her husband’s flexing unrest at being in a place where Dwarves were hated for being Dwarves. Rivendell would be better for them, this she had no doubt.

The weather was warmer, with summer upon them to the further southern region. Likely at Erebor, the nights were still cool with a nippy bite before the sun rose. The waterfalls roared over rocks, tempting her to stick her legs in the cold water, chilled by northern temperatures. The gown she wore, a shimmering blue of deep water, draped at her body to allow comfort for her expanding belly. Rubbing a hand upon the swell, Tauriel sent positive thoughts of love to her babe to shake away the gloom of ill tidings.

_Nana_

Words formed between Eliel and herself, a seamless transition of lyrical thought to articulate speech. Their child could sense her mood, feeling her distress. She was inquisitive, their daughter, fiery some mornings with frisky activity. Today was no different, sending warmth along mental threads to Tauriel. It made her smile in the ripening morning. Kili had taken to speaking in Khudzul to her belly, rubbing it quietly as he spoke. Sometimes there was a lyric to his words, something she didn’t quite understand though Eliel did. The baby was learning her Adad’s voice in the same manner an Elfling child might, in constant reframe and repetition. Eliel would twist herself in thumping activity when he started speaking, her thoughts much louder when he stopped as if annoyed at the loss of attention. It was clear that she would be a daddy’s girl as the bond between them grew.

News had reached them along the Raven chatterline from Erebor that Sigrid had delivered twin girls. She pushed the two infant princesses from her body at the onset of a great summer storm after almost two days of labor. Princess Kara and Rota, they were named. A human healer that had been with her from the beginning had assisted in the birthing that was by all accounts very hard on the Queen. There was talk that this was her last bearing that the King under the Mountain would not risk his One by ushering another child into their hall. Kili and Dorlad had drank toast after toast last night to the daughters of King Fili and Queen Sigrid.

_Nana? Close?_

“Yes, my darling girl, you will be close to them.” Tauriel smoothed a hand over her bumping rise. “You will know them in time if you chose.”

Daughters of Dwarves were sparse, daughters of Durin’s line were few if any. It was unlikely that the King would allow his children from the Mountain for many many years, not until they reached a fighting age. Princess Rota and Kara would be taught warfare and spoiled beyond measure by doting Uncles and honorary kin. As grandchildren of King Bard, they would know their Mannish family but travelling over the Misty Mountains was another point entirely.

She crossed paths with two Elleths that wondered into the glade for their own dedications. Seeing Tauriel with her mares, they welcomed her yet no invitation came to join them on their morning walks. She and her Dwarven husband were guests of their lord, honored and feasted, it was impossible to shun her completely. They took purposeful note of Tauriel marriage braids, almost exaggeratingly so, as if rumor had reached them as nonbelievers. Neither Elf was married or even betrothed according to the bare hands that fluttered in the morning breeze. She refused to feel slighted at their behavior, or ashamed of her husband.

Tauriel possessed the will to have Kili in her life to the exception of all others. And adventure. And love. Love above all. Not the artful postures of love, but love that overthrows life. Unbiddable, ungovernable, like a riot in the heart, and nothing to be done, come ruin or rapture. The creeds of the past weren’t adequate to the stormy present. To live free, to love just as fiercely. There was but one life to live and she would fill each day with happiness and her Dwarf. His laughter stitched more of her life together, making anything in the world seem possible.

She had desires, on other times, Tauriel could wanted a new bow string, or a pretty tooled quiver. Useless things that fell at the wayside when she clapped eyes on a taller than normal Dwarf who spoke of fire moons. Those things, those needs, had faded long ago. She could not articulate a single meaningless thing before him that had burned so hot from want to sear itself with a prominent place in her memory. No Ellon had affected her, to pull her from the rigid life of a Forest Guard Captain, to make her challenge so much her ingrained beliefs as had a naugrim archer from the other side of Arda.

She could recall the first night in Bard's cellar down to the creaking of the boards beneath them. Every detail of their time in Erebor was as fresh as newly laid snow. Tauriel was not inclined to be silent in her wishes, time was her enemy or was it her impatience? The moment their lips touched, it would be the first kiss of many. The twisting coil deep inside of her Fea awakened her to color where life had always been monochromatic. The night in the basement after Kili settled himself on that pallet with Lake water beating a drum beneath them, Tauriel had known his life was always to be at her side.

Years later, his kiss was just as intoxicating and how she craved more of it. They needed each other, not because bodies fit so well for the pair was as mismatched as they come. History was now, starting with each morning. Two lives joined together by something more than themselves, male and female, husband and wife. Their hearts beat the same percussion, for the same reason. Thundering a love, louder than the world’s collision.

_Nana? Love adad?_

The words spoken to her mind doused the fire that heated her blood down to coldest ash. Tauriel felt slightly ashamed at her thoughts, at her vapid control in front of her child. She had seen the hurt in Kili’s eyes when she had told them that they would need to abstain until after their little one’s birth, making her feel guilty for his hurt. They must think anew and act anew for it wasn’t just themselves now. Rubbing a hand over her swell, Tauriel hummed the song to child as Eliel settled into a contented slumber.

“Warg is nigh destroying the stable with Flandif out here with you, my love.” Kili walked out of the brush in a simple tunic and pants with his quiver and arrows at his back. The obvious display reminded her that she had again forgotten her weapons, feeling safe in this valley. “I can understand his distress. A cold bed is no fit greeting for a husband.”

Laughing, Tauriel waddled to him with hands outstretched. Eliel’s growth had changed her center of gravity, making her feel like a duck rather than a member of the First Folk. The healers here and at Lothlorien had remarked that she was larger than the standard for their kind. Lord Elrond had impressed the urgency of her staying at Rivendell, owing to the fact that the father was broad and so might the child. The concern was that her hips would be too narrow for a successful delivery.

The mares walked behind her, swishing their tails at imagined flies. “You should free him for the day. No doubt, Lindir would appreciate it to silence any complaints about one pony’s destruction.”

“You don’t know how ill-mannered he was the last time we were here. Daisy isn’t helping, I don’t think he pays her any attention when Flandif is near.” His brown eyes were warm with laughter as she caught up to him, lacing her fingers into his to draw her closer still. “You should not have left out rooms without me. What if you had fallen?”

“That makes me sound clumsy.” Tauriel leaned down for a kiss when a sunlit flash of dull white caught her eye amongst the brown and green forest. Casting out her senses, she continued down until her lips met his.

He vibrated against her, pulsing in the same manner that she was. It was as chaste as she could make the situation, not when she longed to have him here in the meadow. Her Fea knew him, her Hroa throbbed for him. It was what it meant to be Silvan, to be of a wilder nature than their sedate kin.

He broke first, his hands on her face then to rest on her swelling middle. “Come, Ghivash, let us rest for a while longer.”

They wandered back to their quarters on the far side of the common areas of Rivendell. Kili had requested the privacy, his warrior drive to stand between them and any threat whipping him into a frenzy. The mares continued to walk at their back but would take a different path to the stables in the distance Tauriel could hear the angry roaring of Warg as he pounded the wood of his stall. There was a flash again of lashing blond in the trees as it paced them. Tauriel wasn’t alarmed, she recognized the signature movements of the Sindarian prince.

It was the closest they had come to each other in six year since she had left him on the banks of the Long Lake. His presence made her feel mixed and slightly anxious over such a meeting now. She knew where he had been, fighting with the Dunedain to the North, Dorlad and the others. He represented a part of herself that she had buried when she walked away from him and the Greenwood.

_Nana? Dangerous? Adad in danger?_

The clang of discord from Eliel’s fear shook her to the reality of the situation. Their child knew her thoughts, knew her worries and fear, amplifying it with her own. Knowing how Kili hating the sound, Tauriel picked another tune of Elvish harmony, a lullaby from old times to soothe her babe as they walked. The Silvan pushed away old thoughts of monarchs and princes that gambled in tree tops. That wasn’t her life, it wasn’t her choice.

They entered their rooms, laying down upon the bed in each other’s arms. There was nothing outside of him, not the wind that blew through their window, not even the constant roar of the falls. Her heart boomed in her chest. More, more, more—a steady beat of a runaway steed. His body relaxed under her hands, shuddering from the first touch. Breathing him in wasn’t enough, Tauriel wanted to inhale him. The leather, the sweat, the sweetness. She felt his fingers counting up her waist, searching still for skin, propriety be damned.

She settled against his side, letting out another deep sigh as his familiar heat closed over them like an enveloping cloak. The Elf laid her head on his shoulder and was rewarded with the pressure of his cheek against the top of her vibrant head, a subtle caress. Thankful for his touch, for their child and their continued love. Her eyes seemed to be leaking again; Tauriel shut them tightly as she squeezed Kili close. She had thought herself beyond that capacity but found out she was wrong. Tears came unbidden and often, even when she thought there was no reason for them.

****88****

_Later that evening_

_Legolas_

The moonlight silvered her, a frame of stars that made him weep in the glorious white splendor. Dark vermillion braids gilded in the orb’s favor. Creamy cheeks turned translucent, ethereal. Once he would have watched her quietly, for as long as she allowed, now his open regard had limits.

He longed to go to her, to take her in his arms. There were words in his heart for the Silvan, something that ached now that he saw her at a distance. The sentiment bloomed from his desire, seeking her to turn to him. _Tauriel, my darling love, standing as I am with my hand upon this sword, I ask that you walk at my side and be my guiding star._ The light at the end of the endless dark. Legolas had no leave to go than might moth cut itself from the flame. Her fire drew him, pulled him nigh against his will. His long love had come to Rivendell.

He watched for a while as she spoke with the Lady Arwen. They had of late returned from Lothlorien, the Lady of the house, her brothers, Tauriel and a host sent from the Lady Galadriel to ensure their passage. Even the Dwarf that had captured his love’s attention years previously was in tow. Hearing the news in the stable after he had returned Estel to his grandfather, Legolas had fled to Erestor for more reliable information. Lord Elrond was welcoming home his children while Lord Glorfindel recused himself at the approach of the former captain of Mirkwood. He knew little of their history save that the former Lord of Gondolin thought little of her for the defection, and nothing for the Dwarf at her side.

The Sindarian Princeling rose from his blind spot in the brush, thinking himself safe in the Elven community. The Dwarf with her might be a concern. The son of Durin’s Folk had become notorious in the years since they parted at the ruin of Lake Town, killing enemies and beating down opposition to his brother’s reign. There was no talk of Tauriel, it was some years ago that he learned of how they had parted ways. Tauriel had never gone back to Erebor but went with Lord Elrond to Rivendell to be healed of her wounds. She had survived the Orcs demolishing the farm house, lived beyond the Morgol poisoning. Her strength was wasted on a Dwarf, no matter his royal blood.

Legolas whipped around to see said Dwarf with his arrow knocked and pointed at his chest. No matter his speed, no matter how quick, at the distance between them, Legolas would die at the naugrim’s hand. His expression was cold, not hot anger at catching Legolas spying upon his wife. The arrow was Elven make, long tipped as a Galadrim’s might be. He watched the stunted creature with distaste, pulling a cloak of antagonism about himself.

“This is a peaceful sanctuary. Lord Elrond would not thank you for killing within this homily house!”

It was an obvious statement. Kili could no more take his life than an Orc might dance a jig with Lindir upon the receiving balcony. The lines of his shoulders didn’t strain at the pull of the bow nor did his hands shake. The Dwarf was showing his prowess that he could hold this position for a while longer as he debated with himself on letting loose the string.

“Lord Elrond might look the other way when it is found that you were snooping in forbidden areas. Tauriel had a run in with your father in Lothlorien. I won’t risk you upsetting her as your father did.” The Dwarf snarled at him, his fingers at the release began to flex.

As pulled, Legolas looked to their quarters where Tauriel was by now. “If I know my father, he called Edledhron? The exile. He banished her from our ranks when she failed to return.” The blond Elf turned to Kili fully. “And she could not, could she? Tauriel gave everything, six hundred years of a life to be with you.”

Something changed in Kili as the words washed over him, a changing in his attitude or maybe his reasoning. He let go of the tension on his bow, letting the arrow slide along his fingers as he lowered the point to the ground. He took a deep breath then another, shaking his head.

“You don’t understand. When you love, when you reach that point of loving another, you give always more than you take.” Kili looked at him with pity, peeving the Elf more than he wished. “You give everything.”

Legolas sneered, advancing on the Dwarf who he hated, who had taken from him his love. “What will you give her that will equal taking her life? How much love might you give her as recompense for sealing with a mortal?”

The Dwarf pointed to the ladies, their conversation obscured by the rushing water. The Lady Arwen help steady Tauriel who wobbled a little as she took to her feet. The material of her dress that had bunched at her waist fell to reveal a very noticeable bulge under the fabric. Legolas took a step forward for a better view, then another. _Tauriel was bearing?_ The Dwarf at his back began speaking, yanking him from the shock of discovery at her pregnancy.

Kili paced him to his right, keeping him in sight. “I will give her love, and I will see her days begin with smiles and end in laughter. There is precious little I could ever deny her in this life, nor in any other over the space of time as Mahal wills it.” His grip tightened on the bow when Legolas looked at him, yet he didn’t raise it. “I will, however, deny her _you_. Until we leave, you will keep your distance. It is my child she carries and their safety means more to me than yours. Her bearing is difficult enough without the added discord of jilted love.”

The sight of her pregnant body floored his thinking, only to snap back at the last of the Durin Prince’s speech. Tauriel would bear this malignancy’s get? She consented to not only lay with this… this _Dwarf_ , but take his seed into her body to grow another? What trickery or magics had Kili employed to hoodwink a rare Silvan of steady constitution?  

Nonetheless, Legolas bristled at the tone. He would take her from this ledge of folly, he could make her see how wrong she was to continue this marriage. “If she wishes to see me..”

“She knows you are here, it was she who told me of your presence. Now, _begone with you_!”

The words took the wind from his sails, breaking his heart. Legolas stared at the Elven blade attached Kili’s belt, Tauriel’s that King Thranduil had given her. It was a symbol of her trust to permit her _husband_ to wear it. And yet, she knew of his presence and _wanted him not._ Had Legolas been bold once, had he found the courage to tell his father years upon years ago of his amour, this Dwarf would far from her. But he had not the strength, and his courage was nil. So a Dwarf married his love, and Tauriel bore their child. If life was true and the situation was different, he would do the same as Kili did now. He would stand before any obstacle, placing his body into the path of destruction for her.

If one pushes the boundaries of life, he will find them in the end. Brokenly, Legolas turned without another word to walk away. There is a time for departure even when there’s no certain place to go.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok.. Now we are getting to the end of it.. Legolas picks up in the next chapter of course, quiet and withdrawn over the loss. He forms more a friendship with Gimli who quietly lusts after Galadriel.
> 
> Kara – a Valkyrie name that means the wild, stormy one" (based on Old Norse afkárr, meaning "wild") or "curl" or "the curly one  
> Rota- a Valkyrie name that possibly connected to the Old Norse noun róta (meaning "sleet and storm")[
> 
> The next posting will be set in the future as it is the first part of the Epilogue..I will hopefully be posing a chapter in Sad Tales on Sunday. YaY ! It will be set a month after this chpter 71...


	72. Epilogue Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When my hair's all but gone and my memory fades  
> And the crowds don't remember my name  
> When my hands don't play the strings the same way (mmm)  
> I know you will still love me the same
> 
> 'Cause honey your soul could never grow old, it's evergreen  
> And, baby, your smile's forever in my mind and memory  
> I'm thinking 'bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways  
> Maybe it's all part of a plan  
> Well, I'll just keep on making the same mistakes  
> Hoping that you'll understand
> 
> ~Ed Sheerean - Thinking out Loud~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tauriel's POV
> 
> This is the first part of the epilogue.. There is death..I didn't like doing it.

Third Age 2959..18 years after the BOTFA, 12 years after The Ironfoot’s Treason

 

Tauriel walked the glade to her sanctuary, her quiet place just north of Thorin’s Halls. Ten years she had lived in Ered Luin with Kili had flown faster than possible. They were happy, loving each as they had. Yet, the Dwarves had not been the most comforting nor welcoming of an Elf. Being the Lady in a Dwarf Delving had taught her something that she had failed to learn in the Mirkwood, the absolute meaning of holding other lives as close to herself as she would her children. Tauriel gave of herself, learning from the Dwarves as they had of her. The patience required for the endeavor meant holding back the inclination to let loose the stronger emotions: hate, adoration, joy, anxiety, anger, grief, fear.

Thorin’s Halls had not been what she expected after having grown in the shadow of the Lonely Mountain. Dwarf Delvings she had thought would always have the same characteristics, yet these defied each and helped her understand her husband better. The main Hall, their gathering rooms were half in and half out of the crumbling mountain chain, with layers of receiving outside the main doors. Protection, Kili explained since the Halls were smaller than other kingdoms far to the east. Frerin’s Court beyond the Vale of Thrain held an overflow of guests and dignitaries, rather than place in the close proximity of the Lord’s family.

Many of the Dwarves lived above ground rather than in the deeps. Their blocked homes were stone and mortar, a squared village of different tribes, though all bent a knee to the Lord of Ered Luin, Prince Kili son of Vali. Walking down shale avenues rather than the domed halls she had seen in Erebor gave credibility that not all of the Khazad craved stone and the pressure of subterranean life. The Longbeards and Firebeards worked along each other with no thought or care. It was an amiable existence, the quiet life that Kili had known as a child and wanted for their children.

The main Delving though was a stubborn hole in Tauriel’s opinion. Kili had reworked the area above the receiving gates, making more rooms for their family and private places away from the clatter below. Their family halls were higher between the surface and the working areas, making her Hervann nervous of an incursion from above by enemies. The Dourhand tribe had been quite the scourge of their existence, attacking caravans and harassing merchants.

Like any Khazad stronghold, there were was metal working. The forges comprised the end of the Maker’s Hall with open air silos to allow for better ventilation. Three great vats operated in shifts to allow for the continuous flow of folded steel for the Maker’s Hall. With the infusion of Iron Hills product to couple with the gold that flowed from Erebor, the Merchant’s hall was always busy.

There were comparisons in the beginning, of course. Quiet little comments said at the back of the hand as if her hearing might not pick up their bass tones. _Thrain would never have sidled along an Elf_ , or _Thorin would have had her pointy ears for a necklace rather than bedding down next her every night._ The comments didn’t bother her, she was a Silvan of Mirkwood. Sindarians talked down to her all of her life. The injection of disappointment for Kili was what got her bothered, that he was always different than a Dwarf should be. It didn’t however stop them from pay proper respect to him, though. The Elders of their council were of Moria and Erebor blood from when the Great Ruin befell their ancesters.

Gamilhod son of Halhod had been in charge of Ered Luin after Thorin and Dis had left for Erebor. Not sure of their return, he had ably commanded the settlement until Kili had arrived. There was no power struggle between the two Dwarrow, making Tauriel think he was more able then bespoke his genial appearance. He was in charge still of the Merchant’s hall whilst they were in residence and the Delving itself when Tauriel and Kili had journeyed to Rivendell for Tögn’s birth. He would leave soon for Erebor, wanting to see the Halls that his father had spoke of by firelight in his childhood.

A cascade of pebbles from a rock overhead was the only sign that her eldest had decided to join them after all. The stone spine knobbed its way from north to east, giving a lee to the morning sun. Eliel gambled surefooted from peak to plateau, drawing ever near. Her leather jerkin wasn’t laced so tightly against her blue tunic, showing that she had been in a hurry. Tauriel watched at the corner of her eye but also mindful of her little one behind her. Tögn followed at a chubby pace, a hand on her mother’s skirt for balance.

Their first child was her mother remade, as light as stardust gathered fleetingly into form. Quick and agile, Eliel bounded ahead looking for any new life in the grove. Long hair trailed down her back in curling fire, not the straight heavy weight of a full blood. Her height at eleven was negligible, possibly on the same level as a grown child of Mannish history. Her shoulders were wider, with harder bones than one of Tauriel’s family might have been. Only the light dusting of red curls at her chin bespoke Dwarf blood, or blood other than one of First Born.

Eliel as a Peredhil like her sister, Tögn, shrouded herself in knowledge, learning all she could of Khuzdul and Elvish history. Brown eyes, so like Kili’s stared at the world in curious wonder for each new experience. She had inherited her father’s reckless nature, or so Tauriel had been advised. The Lady of Ered Luin refused to gainsay those who spoke this, wanting them to believe that Dwarf blood ran just as strong in their daughters as their Elven mother’s. Too many had grumbled at their lack of Dwarven features, Elven smooth and fair skinned but they each in turn spoiled the girls shamelessly. Absently, the she Elf wondered if the Queen under the Hill had to worry about such things with her own children.

The summer was turning, giving approach to fall. There was precious little green where they walked. Kili had dug deep and leveled a broken area just beyond their home to have rich soil brought and packed into the creases. The seeds he had brought from Dale had been planted the next year when they were sure the land would accept them. A rich glade grew, lush and fragrant, reminding her of Mirkwood and Dale, promising a connection to the roots of her life. The trees had taken time and nurturing, Eliel had been at her side and so had Kili in the springs and falls thereafter. In the center of her meadow, a stone had been placed carved with Elvish script and Khuzdul, a marker to their eldest, their first child.

Child of Kili, Child of Tauriel

All days are nights to till I see thee

And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

 

Tauriel spotted Eliel by the large stone slab, touching the outlines before racing off to an outer perimeter. The fruit trees in the outer ring of were bearing a heavy crop this year, their branches dropping low from the weight to shield her red-haired child. Tögn let go of Tauriel’s skirt to waddle herself to the stone, tracing stubby fingers along the lines carved by kindly hands. The sun highlighted her black curls as she clinched and unclenched her fingers along the surface.

They knew of their brother, the first one. Tauriel had taken license to spin a story of love that had created something magical between two warring races. Dwarf and Elf, separated by hate but came together to join their hearts as one. Kili had told the girls that the Gods had been envious of such perfection, a half Elven Dwarf. Iluvatar called their brother to sit at their side to lend his grace to their immortality and brighten their halls with laughter. The other details, the true events, would wait until they grew. She wanted to protect them for as long as she was able.

Once, a few months after they arrived, after her daughter was safe and her husband sleeping, Tauriel ran to the harbor, the far Gray Havens to satisfy the curiosity. There gloomed the dark, broad seas that stretched as far as the eye, an Elven eye might see. Mariner souls strove for rest, seeking the frolic’d welcome of the azure waters and the loving embrace of Valinor. Free hearts swimming towards the end of a longer life, having toiled, and sought their last opposed moments on Arda’s shores. A lone vessel puffed her sail in preparation to take those wayward lives far from war and strife.

She was an Elf, a Silvan, so the ship was not for her nor the babes she had borne. Old age would find her progeny, many years hence but there would be an end for them. Death closes in for all of the inhabitants of Arda, save the Elves and they were leaving these shores. The ones that would remain would fade in time, letting loose their hold to this world. What became of Middle Earth, some work of noble note would be held to the world of Men and Dwarves.

Yesterday, Tauriel had been drawn to the same crest, pulled by a feeling she didn’t understand. Moans round with many voices, a light singing on the wind that she remembered from her time in Mirkwood and other realms of the First Born. A shimmering line of travelers, Elven pilgrims walked the road to the Gray havens.

Tauriel was sad to see the departing group, knowing their destination was the harbor. They would leave and never return, sail west for a kinder place than what they knew here. She felt be ungathered in their sight, as alone as they in the scudding drifts on the dim sea. The lack of feeling, the reverence of where they were bound didn’t draw her as it might the pilgrims. Valinor had called them home, grating each new hope. Their dreams would pull them forward into the undying lands and its loving embrace. Their cares would now end in that wonderful place, peace would be within their reach.

She knew there was no peace for her, not that kind which would be visited upon others of her race. The wind whipped their long white hair but Tauriel didn’t envy these Elves. Her lot was tied to this world by virtue of her birth and the love she bore others. It wasn’t just the romantic love of her Dwarf and her daughters but the friends she had made. Sigrid, Tilda, the intellectual Bain and the stoic Dorlad. But it was really her love of Kili that rooted her so firmly, it couldn’t break free. It was the kind of love that an Elf would wait hundreds of years to see fulfilled. Time had no meaning for Elves, but is the longest distance between two places. Only the mortal races measured the intervals with such dexterity. She could wait, she would know patience and she would love Kili until her life ended with his.

Undeserved good fortune always conceal a snare. Tauriel knew the alternative, it kept her focus on the east. The enemy of the free peoples walked from his shadow to declare open war against Gondor. In the year 2951, Sauron boldly called for the rising of the Di’thang slave class to wage war against their masters, to kill them in their sleep or poison their food. The Harad people, many of whom were born in Minas Tirith and surrounding areas, answered the call of evil to kill their masters and children of the Numeneor. Ripples of conflict spread to every kingdom, shock and fear the rule of the day.

House Artamirian lost their estate in Minas Tirith while Yavien, the housekeeper lost her life. Umber slaves broke the scaled gates to riot and destroy all that they could. Her body was found broken and drowned in the great fountain before the house, the same fountain Tauriel remembered walking their horses for exercise. The other retainers of the house were dead or fled but no trace or search was attempted. The mass killing was hideous, upper class Gondorians who still lived were thrown from the upper tiers to their deaths by people who had once served them.

The House Artamirian family withdrew to Pelagir as did many others, fortified behind their high walls. They tossed out their slaves, killing the males and leaving the women and children to fend for themselves. The Canals of the beautiful city were choked with bloated bodies floating in crimson black water. It was weeks before the mass were netted and pushed downstream for the river monsters to feed upon at their will.

Dol Amroth sent soldiers up river, reinforcements to quell the uprising. The other provinces did the same, bolstering the Prince’s army as he rode for Gondor. A red dawn greeted the Swan Knights as swept through the fields, slaying the Di’thang with unrepentant force. They flew up the Anduin, taking the harbor to meet up with the land bound Knights and forces from Osgiliath. Days and nights of murder and death on the wind wiped the Umber and Harad slaves from Gondor until not one lived, not even the children. It was a hard lesson, to enslave a race meant there was always a knife at your back just waiting to strike.

The Steward Turgon did nothing to quell the slaughter, though his son, Ecthelion, denounced it viciously. At his advanced age, the worst was coming for the White City but their leader wasn’t strong enough to stem the tide. Many called for his removal, that he should have seen this threat to his people. Others called for the Palantir, a device of Numenorean power for guidance and knowledge. It didn’t have the effect that they wished for it, Sauron gained firsthand accounts of his devastation. At any road, the House of Hurin was stained with the blood of the dead, both Gondorian and Harad.

Tilda, Bard’s youngest daughter and princess of Dale, had the good fortune to be on the road when the worst happened. She and three others with their escorts hid in the forests between Minas Tirith and Pelargir for four days until they were able to return. Unable to enter the Pelennor Fields, Tilda decided she had been too far from home for too long and left the White City behind her. One of the other healers asked to accompany her, stating that she was an orphan and had no reason to stay. They met a contingent of Rohirrim at the Mering stream who were trying to hold the boundary against Sauron’s forces. The horsemen escorted them to Edoras where they found safety.

Kings Bard and Thranduil met her at the south end of the Greenwood, taking Tilda and her friend, Edda, back to Dale. Two Kingdoms turned out to welcome home the youngest Princess of Girion’s line, the healer who had survived the destruction in Gondor. She had stayed a night with her father then requested to stay with Sigrid at the Mountain for a while. Her husband returned from the Lonely Mountain with tales that made Tauriel’s blood run cold. Tilda awoke each night screaming in fear from the experience.

Kili had gone back to Erebor that year when a summit had been called for new trade agreements with Thurlin’s Folk. The Umli who had apprenticed with Erebor blacksmiths were balking at returning to the frozen North. They had enough of the cold brittle life, wanting seasons and fresh fruit. He brought two back with him to finish their apprenticeship in Ered Luin. It gave the half Dwarves a different view of life in this part of Arda, new understanding of the life a Dwarf and Man might lead.

It wasn’t just the Umli who returned with him, but a Dwarrowdam made the journey. A Lady Thrud daughter of Tindri. At first Tauriel had been concerned about this female who had made the six month trip to Ered Luin with her husband. The conversations were stilted at the beginning, the Dwarrowdam was not of a most verbal mindset, not just to her Lady but to any. Then one day, the Elf found her crying quietly in her chambers clutching a man’s shirt. It was that moment that she knew the ‘dam had come to the Blue Mountains out of loss, not greed. Nothing makes an onlooker feel so useless as another's grief. There was wine shared, then the story of a love and his death.

The year 2954, their daughter Tögn was born. She was a quiet child, not as active as her older sister, Eliel. Even in the womb, she was introspective. Tauriel suspected then that her child would take her father’s influence, and she did. Broad and sturdy, the birth was a hard one that took her months before she fully recovered. As if in apology, little Tögn was only happiest, smiling only in her mother’s arms.  Their babe had communicated but on her terms, when she had something to say. Now birthed at six years, she was still as unobtrusive as she was during her first year of life.

The Lady Thrud had a wonderful knack for teaching Khazad as well as infinite patience for Tauriel’s butchery of her language. She was of the opinion that as the Lady of Ered Luin, the Elf should know what was said of her at the markets. Ignorance was no excuse. Several mornings dawned with an Elf and a Dwarrowdam practicing common words and utilizing grunts as a language as well as hand gestures. Eliel was fluent where her mother was still trying to ask for ale without saying the seller’s ‘dam was a cut rate prostitute with her hands.

The horses and dogs were a different matter altogether. Flandif had let go of her life some two years back during a foaling. Tauriel while apart from the situation before all, cried at the mare’s passing in the evenings. A horse of uncommon good sense, she was a friend for the Elf when there had been no one. Flandif had managed to push the spotted colt from her body only to die before he found his legs. The colt was given the name, Ninim, for his molted hide. Warg had grieved himself deeply as well, barely eating for weeks nor acknowledging his progeny. It was Gilesgil who muscled the little pony into a semblance of life while Tauriel cared for the foal.

Hati, the half warg mixed pup grew monstrously large with a spine almost higher than Kili’s head. The deep chest and narrow body that was promised in her youth reached fulfillment by her second year. The black overcame the white across her back, creating saddle markings of an interesting degree. A wedge shaped head held vicious teeth and ferocious intelligence to pair with unyielding loyalty to her Lord and Lady. Kili made a thick gold collar with marks of the Line of Durin along the ban for her to wear, proclaiming her allegiance. He didn’t look at her any different than he might Warg, never as an owner but as a companion.

The murder of Ravens that had travelled with them from Erebor had been killed in the ensuing years. Crebain had been come most hazardous as a natural enemy to the winged scouts of Ravenhill. With Radagast gone, the animals from that section grew wild and uncontrollable. Whom they served now was anyone’s guess. Now the only news from Erebor was received through travelers and the semiannual caravans. It was how they found the news that Bran had taken Tilda’s Gondorian friend, Edda, to wife and was a father of a son named Brand.

Tauriel tried not to borrow trouble, never forgetting what she saw. But maybe, just maybe, she was who and where and what she needed to be. Maybe all the prices that had been paid were nothing more than part of high cost of living. Her death might have started a succession into madness that he would never have recovered, pulling their world into a void of death. The frailty of violence is that it is an ever increasing spiral, adding deeper darkness to a night already bereft of stars. She didn’t want that life for him, not for her love, but because none should know that empty feeling of no hope.

Looking at the marker, a symbol of the life that came too soon, Tauriel picked up Tögn into her arms. Kissing her forehead, her baby giggled as the Elf ran her nose into the wisp of curls at her jawline. Tomorrow would come soon enough, bearing with it a host of problems. For now, this day was for her stardust daughters and their sunlight happiness.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edda is old Norse that means great parent. There are other meanings but I like this one and felt it more appros.  
> The passage for Kili and Tauriel’s child comes from sonnet 43 by Shakespeare.  
> Tögn – Valkyrie name that means silence.  
> Ninim – Sindarin for Snowdrop  
> I read that Elf children in the womb gain their first year of life, because life begins for them at conception rather than birth. Togn has been birthed for five years but Tauriel counts it at six.   
> I had originally thought to have Bain marry a member of the slave class but that changed when I cut out the additional 4+ chapters that would have made up their romance.


	73. Epilogue II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night is on her hair.  
> And like a lovesick lenashee  
> She hath my heart in thrall.  
> No life have I, no liberty,  
> For love is Lord of all.
> 
> Celtic Woman - My Lagan Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khudzul - Gajut men targu – forgive my appearance.  
> Gamut sanu yenet, Ezbadu men – Well met, my esteemed lady.  
> Kili’s POV in Rivendell

Third Age 2961…. Twenty years after BOTFA

Kili felt anxious, twisted inside like he had swallowed a barrel of eels. Tauriel had delivered another healthy girl, but it was only through Lord Elrond’s assistance that she lived beyond the birth. Slender Elves were not made to bear hearty Dwarves. He wanted to be angry, wanted to mad at her for doing this because it was her decision to take him during her fertile time to beget another babe. There had been no discussion, no talk of why she wanted to put herself through this again. It was the non- communication that bothered him the most, particularly since she understood he wanted no more children after Little Tögn ripped her way into the world.

She had been so many months along, Kili had been afraid of her riding to Imladris. Thrud in her own horrid way had chortled at the pair of them on the trip, saying what husband doesn’t know that his wife is bearing? Kili had waspishly replied that he had no idea it was a babe and he wasn’t going to ask his loving Elf if she was getting fat. He might be a Dwarf but he wasn’t _that_ stupid. Tauriel had snorted at him, with Tögn sitting before her in the saddle.

Kili paced up and down the receiving balcony in agitated strides while Lord Elrond examined his One on her second day after. Glorfindel stood at the entrance, lazing his stance but not his attention. It was decided that the new father was better away from the tending healers when they discussed her treatment. The Lady Arwen was not here for many months, banished to Lothlorien since the young ward Estel, Dorlad’s nephew, was realized as Aragorn son of Arathorn II. There was a quiet war going on with that situation, something he didn’t understand. The Undomiel’s intervention would have been welcome to smooth over the feelings of nervous Elves or Dwarves who were afraid of losing their wives.

They would be here for the next few months at least, from what the Lord of Rivendell told him yesterday. Their newest daughter had come into the world, like her closest sister, wider in the shoulder like a Dwarf. The corresponding tears in Tauriel’s lower body had to be packed but this time, they had been ready for the possibility. The wounds needed to be treated with enriched herbs and cloths, plus Tauriel required draughts for the pain and blood loss. An Elven Healer such as the Elrond was a blessing.

Kili had stayed by her side, allowing an Elf to take his child from the room. It was a rare thing, for a father to permit his child to be taken by another. He just couldn’t bear to leave Tauriel, or allow anything to disturb her. Kili loved his child, he knew he did, but he loved his wife most desperately. Anger at her was misplaced but being angry at his child was thoughtless. He just … _couldn’t_ find it in himself to touch the babe yet. Tauriel had hovered between this life and the next for hours after.

Glorfindel stretched for a moment, his eyes still on the Dwarf. “Why don’t you go to the stables and exercise your pet? She has been over friendly with some of the hounds that the Dunedain train.”

Kili scoffed at him, continuing his pacing. Hati had come to Rivendell as well, never far from the children and the Lady Thrud. Sometimes, she would hunt bringing back a rabbit or quail to their camp. Due to her size and the size of their party, it was agreed that Hati would stay in the stables with Warg’s son, Ninim. The pair got on well for being two species, both alike in temperament. Kili had rode the stallion this time since Warg had become more infirm with advancing age.

Kili turned to give the former lord what –for when a cough at his rear made him pause.

“Kili?”

The Dwarrow spun around once more to come face to face with his mother. Gob smacked, all he could do was stare for the moment as he watched Lindir bow to leave them. This was literally the last person he expected to see today. Princess Dis wore plain travelling clothes, clean and sturdy. A short sword hung from her leather belt, the scabbard decorated with fine glass. Her cape was good wool, the color blue that so many of Durin’s folk favored.

It was her hair that drew his notice. Brushed and tended like any proper Dwarrowdam, it was more liberally gray now then he remembered. The midnight black gave way to twilight to match the snowdrop beard at her chin. There were frames of wrinkles at her mouth and eyes, a lifetime of cares and worries written upon her skin. Having always thought of her in a timeless capacity, it was a rude awakening to confront her in Elder years.

“Amad?”

A smile broke across her face, the same smile of his childhood. It was the one he had wanted to see when his knee was scraped or if Fili had not shared properly. Dis held out her hands as she took a step forward, there were tears welling at the corners of clear blue eyes.

“You took Baglûna over my leaving.” Kili began, rooting himself for the battle. “You wouldn’t accept my marriage. When I have gone to the Mountain, you were still in seclusion.”

Dis dropped her hands along with her head. The shot gray was even more pronounced at the crown than it had been in the braids. She was getting older, approaching the end of the time Mahal had given her. Was that why she had come?

“I was wrong. I have been so wrong about so many things.” Her voice was sad, achingly so. “I tried to do so much for Fili and it was always the wrong thing. I took the seclusion because the ways I know and the experiences I have had are wrong in this new age. Your brother married a daughter of Man, making her a Queen in a Dwarven realm. Then my baby takes an Elf. My world has passed me by and left me at an abandoned mine shaft.”

Kili walked closer, draw in by her explanations. Truths are the last thing you learn about your family. By the time you learn, you're no longer their child. Her fingers reached out to touch his marriage braid with its three beads that represented his children. One was silver for the loss of their eldest, the others gold for the living. Their newling as the Elves called the baby would have a place in his braid after the next full moon.

“You _wanted_ Fili to marry Sigrid.”

Glorfindel coughed indelicately to make his presence known and withdrew. Seeing Dis for the first time in so long, Kili had forgotten about the former Gondorlin Lord at the archway. He nodded to him, thankful that this would have some privacy.

“For every reason except the right one. It was easier for her to bring those alliances to the fold without having to bend a knee to ask Thranduil, Bard or _give_ anything in return. Though your brother did give over the White Gems in the end. Sigrid is the love of his life, not a bargaining chip.” The Daughter of Thrain blew out a long breath. “I am a relic, best put on a shelf. I ask your forgiveness, my son.”

Kili felt the laughter only a moment before it tumbled from his lips. The idea of so stubborn a Dwarrowdam thinking she was beyond life in any Delving was too funny for expression. Her face clenched in dismay at his snickering. The pursed lips were moued as her eyes turned to colored ice. Her anger was always an enjoyment. Walking to her again, he took her hands in his own.

“You are not a relic, Amad, and I forgave you long ago.” Kili gave her his most rakish grin, the kind she always complained that meant he was up to no good. “We change or we die in those caves underground, and be everything the rest of the Middle Earth thinks we are. It is good that Fili married Sigrid, new blood is pushed into the line of Durin. Now, why did you set aside your seclusion?”

The grin worked on her, making her face lighten out of its scowl.   It was a more pleasant exchange when she wasn’t angry or trying to manipulate the outcome of some venture. Mother and son had a bond always that was stronger than anything else until the son found love. She was the first face he remembered from his childhood. It was why he had been so angry at all she had tried to do behind the scenes.

“Balin was coming with this year’s caravan to Ered Luin. We had emerged from the Forest River road to break out travel with the Beornlings. They told us you were here in Rivendell with another child to be born.” Her expression was hopeful as she squeezed his hands. “I had thought to see you in Thorin’s Halls but there was no word on how long you would be here.”

Confused for a moment, Kili looked at his mother. “Why did Balin leave the Erebor to go to the Blue Mountains? We have had no word since the Ravens stopped returning.”

Dis looked uncomfortable, not drawing away from him but still rather discerned. For Balin to leave the Lonely Mountain was a serious thing. Erebor was the center of the Dwarven Kingdoms, many putting their faith in its solidity. Twenty years after reclamation was not long in eternal lives but his brother was past his first century mark now. He was a tried and tested warrior of Khazad, it was a lot of pressure.

His mother’s sheepish expression cleared, squaring her shoulders. “Recruitment for Dwarrowdelf.”

Rolling his eyes at her, Kili had not forgotten the constant requests when he had been there some years ago. The old Dwarf was very serious about retaking Moria, pulling it back into the fold of Erebor. He said the mithril in Erebor was minuscule next to the deep veins that ran through the Misty Mountains. Longbeards had coveted the mineral that made weapons and mail that could survive the worst Dragon Fire.

“Is he still on about that? Are you going with him?” Kili asked incredulously.

If his mother was complaining about being on the shelf, he could certainly understand why a quest for Moria would appeal. It was a new start, a fresh place where the rules were entirely of her own making. But such a venture was dangerous, Kili had traversed over those mountains and each time it had been crawling with Orcs. Like flees on a Hati’s back. That was just on the surface, underneath the spires, protected from their hated sunlight, the Orcs had to massing again.

“Not a first,” Dis said quietly. “Not until it is safe.”

Looking around, she walked to the bench near the railing. The rushing water tumbled by in a mad dash for the falls, louder now as the snow melted. The roar in the background, the slight touch of water there and again reminded him where he was. Dis reached to take his hand once more, making him feel better than he had since he had arrived.

“It will be dangerous, Amad. Are you sure it is something you feel confident in seeing through?”

Dis laughed for the first time. “My brother was my age when he took you and Fili away for Erebor. He fought Goblins, Orcs and lost his heart to a hobbit. Moria is no match for a child of Thrain!”

It _was_ a match of a child of Thrain, Kili thought with dismay, it was a match for Thrain himself and his father, Thror. Yet, there would be no pale Orc waiting for Durin’s Folk this time, no progeny to take up sword against Balin. Kili thought forward into battles where Dwarrows were fighting scores and legions of the enemy day and night. Somewhere in those companies would be his mother.

“Well that’s a thought that is going to fester.” He grumbled at last. “I assume you came over the mountain passes. Did you come alone?”

“No.” Dis snorted, pointing to a path that led to the far housings at a shadowy figure talking to another Elf. “Sigrid wouldn’t hear of it! Burin!”

Unable to help himself, Kili laughed and ran to his childhood friend. They embraced as brothers, then cracking their skulls in a time honored tradition. The only thing harder than Dwarven steel was a Dwarrow’s skull!   They embraced again, pounding each other on the backs in thumping degrees.

“Its been years, old fossil!” Kili chortled when they broke away. “Look at you, I think your beard is getting threadbare!”

The friend of his childhood bristled in jest, taking a swipe at the Lord before he thought the better of it. “Your eyesight is failing, oh high Lord of the Blue Mountains. It must be the glint of all that gold you hoard in Thorin’s Halls!”

“Not at all, I –ohuff.” He just been just close to returning the insult when a solid weight crashed into his back.

The wind pushed off the water in a gust, whipping long crimson hair around him. Laughingily unable to contain it when she managed to sneak up on him, Kili grabbed Eliel around the waist to pull her before him. This morning the green tunic had been crisp and clean. Now, it looked as if she had found Hati and the two of them had fought in fountains then rolled in the mud. Entirely possible and not the way Kili would have wanted to introduce his child her grandmother.

Dis drew back in surprise, staring at his oldest daughter in amazement. He looked at her probably as his mother and Burin with his attention on her chin could. As tall as he, he took in the wide grin in a decidedly Elven face. The brown eyes were his, twinkling with the same mischief that he felt always yet had to suppress. Her nose had grown larger than the pert indent that her mother sported, though not as large mayhap as her father. She was still growing, still changing. When she reached her maturity and grew into the scarlet sprigs at her chin, there were no bets on who she might favor most.

“Adad! You must save me from Lady Thrud! She is trying to take my knives from me!” The gush of sentences tumbled from her like a flood of puppies released for exercise. The earnest expression on her face was just as cute.  

“Of course, she wants your knives. Your mother will be jealous when you go to see her if you have blades and she cannot.” Kili reasoned with his daughter in a decidedly Kili fashion. Such an argument would never hold weight with anyone else. “But you will have to wash first. Hati has been dragging you in the mud.”

The fervor continued, as Eliel used her hand to articulate her meaning. “Well Adad, she needed walking! Hati is bored in the stable because the Elves are a bit frightened of her. And you must be joking about Nana. She has at least two blades in that room with her bow under the bed.”

Shaking his head, Kili turned the precocious child to the pair of Dwarves. Their eyes widened at her face, at the height she had obtained and by all reckoning wasn’t finished. His child of two races was beautiful to him; eagerly, he wanted them to see the same beauty.

“May I present by daughter, Eliel.” Placing his hands on her shoulders, he looked at them quietly. “Daughter of Kili, Lord of Ered Luin, I give you: Burin, son of Regin, Captain of the Queen’s royal guard.” Taking a deep breath, he nudged her to turn slightly to her left to face the Dwarrowdam. “This is Dis, Daughter of Thrain, son of Thror, Princess of Erebor. Gamul Khagun menu.”

Eliel stiffened, sucking in harshly. She had asked of family, for family was important to both Elves and Dwarves yet, when Kili had left for Erebor, Eliel had stayed behind. The pain of his children not knowing Fili and his family has a raw ache in his breast. Dwarves of Ered Luin had not taken to Tauriel as he would have liked, though respect was giving on both sides. Their children were cared for with joy and accepted for they were Durin’s Folk along with their Elvish blood. But his mother was different, both better and worse. He would never allow hurt to visit his blood, even at the hands of those he loved.

“Gamut sanu yenet, Ezbadu men.” Eliel bowed her head in greeting, missing Burin’s surprised grin. “Gajut men targu.”

“Well met, daughter of Kili. You have not grown into your beard, little one. So no forgiveness should be asked.” Dis’ lips twitched formalities then looked to Kili. “She calls you ‘Adad’? Not some Sindarian equivalent?”

“She is learning both, Amad. Eliel is a child of two races.” Kili struggled to keep himself from taking unnecessary offense but this was his child. There was not little insult when it came to Dwarves.

Dis stared at them both for a few minutes then turned to Burin at her left. She spoke quietly, too low for Kili to hear, though he felt the tension release in his daughter. Whatever she said, was heard and understood to be of little threat to his child and her Elvish hearing. Burin bowed to her, giving them a wink before he departed. The path he took was in the direction of the forward areas for visitors, far from where Kili and his family would be staying. He wondered who else had travelled across the passes with his mother and who went on to Ered Luin.

“I was given to know that you have other children.” Dis asked quietly, taking a seat once more.

“I have another daughter, Tögn, who should be with Thrud.” Pulling Eliel to get her attention, Kili spoke to her ear. “Go and change, then we shall see your mother.”

Eliel observed the proprieties with Dis, bowing once more before she turned to leave. Dis rose at once. “Wait..please.” The Dwarrowdam moved to intercept her before Eliel got too far. Kili was one step away as Dis twisted something from her arm to hand to Eliel. “You wear no stones yet, do you hear their songs?” Eliel drew back for a moment then shook her head in dismay. Dis smiled again. “There is no wrong that you do not hear. Not all Khazad have this talent. Others learn metal and how it is folded to be the strongest. Still others know strategy and how to defeat our enemies.” Dis handed the gold cuff studded with sapphires and runes to Eliel who looked upon it in wonder. “Whatever your talent, you are a daughter to the line of Durin. The child of my youngest son. This was given to me by my own grandmother, Skogul, years ago before Erebor fell. I wish you to wear it, and think of us when you do. We are your family as much as the Elves and love you just as much.”

Dis pulled Eliel’s head to down to her, brushing her forehead with her own. The emotion of his daughter’s acceptance drowned Kili utterly. Dwarves were family oriented, always, it was why someone new was introduced as the child of their father. Names held power, family lines held memories and songs of honor. He had wanted his children to have the same claim to those songs and deeds of old.

“My lady Dis.” Lord Elrond walked from the house of healing with Glorfindel in his wake like a white shadow. “I offer my apologies that I was not there to greet you in person. Lindir has seen to your needs and accommodations?”

His Amad broke from Eliel who giddily pushed the cuff on her right wrist. As a female, she would enjoy the gift because it was from Dis more than the face that it was jewelry. It was doubtful she would ever take it off. The right was her dominant hand but she was learning blocking and archery, needing that arm for vambraces. Lord Elrond would have seen the exchange, waiting until the last moment before interrupting. Kili tapped his daughter on the shoulder to get her attention, then pointed to their rooms while Dis exchanged greetings with the high Elf.

Narvi, a Longbeard whose family had travelled to the Blue Mountains from Khazad Dum in Thorin’s years appeared at his elbow. He and a few others had travelled with Kili and his family to Rivendell while Hadhod was left in charge. Narvi handed him a message from the Lady Thrud that Princess Dis had asked for her company this evening. Looking at his Amad now, he could only speculate on that fireside conversation. Thinking it through, Narvi was solid and trustworthy and the right one to find out about Balin’s expedition.

“Did you bring the pigeons?” He smiled at the Dwarrow’s affirmation. “Send to the Hall, find out if Balin has arrived yet.”

He left as Kili tucked the paper into his pocket, the transference was marked by his mother as she continued to discuss trivialities with Lord Elrond. Kili didn’t want to think the worst of his mother but there were politics at play here, the deeper meanings of layers behind layers behind layers. He would wait and appreciate the time with her to find out an answer to his questions.

How many Dwarves would seek riches in Moria rather than stay and work in Ered Luin? What might Balin promise them in order to fill out his ranks to an acceptable degree to launch the expedition? The reclamation of Erebor had made many rich, such might sway even the most stalwart. But it would take lives and therefore bodies to march through those enchanted gates to fight the last of the Orcs that had survived the Great Battle. He wasn’t meanly in his estimation, the Orcs would be filling their ranks just as any other race.

Lord Elrond motioned for Kili to join them. “Your lady wife is much better, responding to the herbal treatments. You may got to her side if you wish.”

Dis spoke up. “I think that it is beyond time for me to meet my near daughter, Lord Elrond. There are bridges that need to be crossed and apologies made.”

The high Elf and Lord of Imladris regarded mother and son with a pensive air that Kili knew meant he was deliberating. Dwarves were trying under the best of circumstances, and never so much as when one is not in possession of full health. The Lord of Ered Luin understood Vilya’s bearer as he had the Lady Galadriel. A storm was brewing in the east, things foul and hungry ran in dark forests. Every sword would be needed in the years to come. Tauriel had come with blessings and high praise from some of the most powerful beings of that race. They would not let chance and a stubborn mother hurt her.

“I will go, my Lord.” Kili spoke up, drawing their attention. “We will not say long.”

Bowing his head to them, Elrond agreed. “That would be wise, Master Dwarf.”

“Could you tell me, please, is Dorlad in the Dunedain village? I have sent messages since we arrived but have not heard?” Kili asked.

“One of the Man warriors you traveled with? He must be at great age and most infirm.” Dis commented as two Dwarrows brought forward a chest, ironbound and heavy by the look.

He could tell from his years as a caravan’s guardian that it was valued. The slide locks were strong enough to hold the chest by itself if the handles were broken by thieves looking for weak points in the construction. It was small enough to be strapped on the side of an animal as a counter balance. The two bearers sat it down but stood by rather than leaving. The high Elf watch before answering Kili’s question.

“Dorlad has left with Estel for Rohan. I cannot say when they will return.” Lord Elrond bowed again, leaving when Lindir handed him a scroll.

The words took Kili back in that year of his quest. If Dorlad was in Rohan, in the fighting, he would cross paths with Arnorra and her husband, Derhelm who was now Marshall of the Mark and Lord of Helm’s Deep. Tauriel had been morose at the news of Aeldklif’s death, especially coming so soon on the heels of Flandif’s death. But his stoic Elf persevered, only showing him her private pain. He couldn’t say what had happened to Alfgivia after her husband’s death. Kili wondered if Dorlad would see to Arnorra and part with the truth of her birth after all these years.

A female Elf came for them, leading them to Tauriel’s chambers. He could see her doing a mental count of himself, Dis and two Dwarves bearing a chest. Kili indicated for her to proceed, refusing to allow the raised eyebrow to bully him. There was a tightening around her mouth in displeasure before she led them through the winding trees to his wife’s kiosk near the forest. Tauriel had asked for that room to be closer to the trees, a luxury that Ered Luin had not afforded in the beginning. The fountain in the center of the grove was a laughing distraction to the solitude of sentinel wood.

As they neared her door, Kili stopped them. “Amad, what is in the case?”

He stood firm, he needed her to understand that Tauriel was his wife and thereby his to protect. After her display with Eliel and the gift, he was sure it wasn’t dangerous but he couldn’t have his wife overwhelmed in this fragile state. It was hard enough the feelings of guilt for his part in this situation, he refused to permit further damage.

“A gift only. She is most deserving for having claimed Vali’s last gift to me.” Dis put her hand on his arm. “We only live so long as our heart allows, my son. Yours lies now beyond that door, and I would pay it honor.”

Satisfied of her intent, Kili opened the door to see Tauriel sitting up against the headboard, propped high on each side. A swaddled bundle lay cradled in her arms, nursing at her breast. The door opening caught her attention, making her shift to see who entered. A wan smile of gray lips greeted him, the pallor of her condition eating the color from her face. Death’s kiss was still upon her cheeks to couple with the blacked circles under her eyes from exhaustion. Her braids, he had tended himself that morning to assure himself of the plats and beadwork were correct. The fiery strands that had captured his attention with their sizzling color hung down her back in dull straw-like texture. This pregnancy had taken so much, he prayed to Mahal that she would see reason and prevent anymore.

Her attention flickered to the presence behind him as the other Dwarves filed into the room. As he might have suspected, Tauriel fixated upon his mother as soon as she separated herself from the group. Her tired eyes inventoried the Dwarrowdam, comparing features to his own and by extension, their children. Kili had not known of Dis’ arrival until she came, Tauriel would have been no different unless one of the other gossips had told her while Lord Elrond was in attendance.

Hastily taking a blanket from the handmaiden, his wife covered her body and their child from view. Bowing, the assistant gave Kili and the grouping a hard stare, making him want to stick his tongue out at her. Rolling his eyes, he made his way to the right side of the bed where Tauriel held out her hand with a smile. It lighted the room for him, illuminating his worries and how close he came to losing her. Kissing the tips, Kili crawled to her side on the bed to touch more of her.

“Are you well today?” He whispered but he knew that the others could hear them.

“I am, Guren vell. Our joy is most voracious.” She wiggled the swaddled infant minutely before looking to the Dwarves yet again. “You have brought guests. Welcome to you, Dis, Princess of Erebor.”

His mother indicated the chest to be placed on a table nearby then waved the Dwarrows form the room. Turning back to the bed and its occupants, his Amad folded her hands before her. “My son sits at your left hand and in your right, you hold the child of his blood at your breast. Mahal has blessed you, my Lady. There shall be no formal declarations between us. May I? Travelling is not so easy on me as it was some hundred years afore.”

Tauriel motioned to the seat by the chest, to which Dis took it gratefully. Folding herself into the armchair made for an Elf, his mother looked like a Halfling if not for the silvered braids. A slight coo snapped his attention back to the child as his Elf righted herself to settle the child. When her arm began to shake with the strain, he took the child to lay her on her back between them.

“May I? I find that I miss babies now that Sigrid will have no others.” Dis inched forward to get a look at their newling. “Kara and Rota were more mischievous than their brothers ever thought about. What do you call her?”

“Sigrun, after the Queen in Erebor.”

Tauriel looked first at Kili then their child. He had the sense that she waited for him to pick up their child, to bond with her as she had. But there was still yawing distance of how opposite her health had become. Gray, sallow skin rather than the creamy pale of health to pair with her barely being able to move without assistance in her own bed.

Tauriel looked reluctant, going so far as to lean forward and place a hand upon Sigrun’s foot. Unable to see her desperation, Kili answered for them. “Carefully, this is no babe of stone that might bounce if you drop her.”

Dis, who piercing blue eyes missed nothing, saw through the deception he tried to incorporate. Bending to the bed, the Dwarrowdam lifted the cooing child to take a seat close to his wife. It wouldn’t do to move to far away, the distance would bother his wife more than anything. Holding their newling as instructed, Dis marveled at her fingers, toes and the tiniest point to her ears. Not Khazad but sloped in Elvish fashion with the same wide shoulders of a child with Dwarf blood. Her pate was smooth without hair, and her eyebrows held no distinguishable color. The other child he could guess at who they would favor even from birth, but Sigrun was different. In so many ways.

“My lady, you have birthed a beautiful child.” Dis spoke as she began to rock the babe in her arms. “I have met your eldest already, Eliel. But I wonder at your Tögn and her resemblance? Is she more equally distributed?”

“What do you mean by that, Amad?” Kili answered for Tauriel, running a hand down her arm to catch her fingers from seeking a blade that Eliel had spoken. “Tögn would be with the Lady Thrud for language lessons. She is a bright curiosity as is her older sister.”

Concern tightened Dis’ face a moment as she thought, staring at the child in her arms. Then she smiled again. Whatever thoughts that brought on her dismay didn’t root themselves, yet let go of the fertile soil for more pleasantries. She spoke softly in Khazad to the child as she reached out tiny fingers for the Princess’ glittering beard.

“I mean only that it is certain that the Elvish blood runs deep in Eliel, her height and balance. Her features are thicker than an Elf but not entirely Dwarvish.” Dis looked to Kili and raised her eyebrows. “Most Dwarf children are still crawling like babies until their eighth year, yours are learning languages.” The baby succeeded in grabbing a bead, drawing Dis’ once more to her. “Children of Men grow faster, so have Fian, Vian and their sisters. I had thought Elves grew slower still.”

“Elves reach maturity at age one hundred. With Dwarven babes coming of age at forty, we have decided to split the difference if their thinking reflects that of an adult. Eliel is strong and most capable.” Tauriel told her with a lifted chin.

“And a female.” Dis said quietly. “You know our laws. Unless your daughter marries a Durin in accordance with the Blood Law, she will never rule in Ered Luin.”

Kili snarled at this well-meaning sentiment but he knew better. Dwarrowdams might not rule in name, there was no Queen under the Mountain who sat higher than its King. However, no laws were proposed without the good wishes of Sigrid. Fili and his wife ruled together rather than he along sitting the Mountain Throne and thus, it had been since his brother took the crown. The ladies of the Water Chamber were well known to influence policy and trade for purposes of their own. Great Valar, his mother had turned about a war with their cousin!

“What hypocrisy! You would expect a child of mine to claim another who she didn’t love utterly just to rule in the Blue Mountains? You have not changed for all your words, Amad!” Kili was angry and his tone provoked little Sigrun to fidget in Dis’ arms.

“I _have_ changed, my son. Making sure you understand the facts.” Dis handed the baby back to Tauriel who hummed a Silvan lullaby to their child to soothe her. “And no, I didn’t say she should. Eliel should claim one that she loves with her whole heart, never for just a title. But if your children will live in a Delving rather than a forest, looking like the Khazad will be to their beneft.”

There was no mention of the child, their son. He was their Eldest, but there had been no others. Kili had thrown females, three in line and most unheard of. Fili had given twin daughters to his wife instead of sons. The Line of Durin was becoming more evenly balanced when before it had been entirely male.

“There are other mixed blooded children at the Lonely Mountain, at Silverhorn. Look to Thorin’s halls! Halfling children of Dwarf blood roam freely. Will Moria be any better?” Kili challenged.

Dwarves had come to claim the right of purity for those places in the mountains, they almost let themselves die out rather than taking a wife of a different race. The Seven Tribes were not so plentiful as Man or Elf, so why not take a bride or look for love where it can be found rather than the exclusion?

“Those are the only ones, my son. Look you to Mablad-dum, the Blacklocks barely trade with non Khazad much less take them to their beds. Ironfists are on the brink of extinction for their purist ways.” She sighed deeply. “I just want a world where your children and Fili’s will be safe. With that in mind, I bring gifts for you and your children.”

Dis turned away before Kili or Tauriel could protest. He wanted to argue, he wanted her to understand that Ered Luin was not the deadlocked society that she had left years ago. It had become a haven for the half bloods that he had met and welcomed into their halls. Surely, there was grumbling of the purity of Durin’s Folk but when he looked into the happy faces of his children, he listened to the naysayers with half an ear.

They all waited for time to give them something else. This was the danger, the seduction of longevity Kili realized—it was the opportunity, the freedom of a thousand possibilities of where to live and how to start over. Long lived races such as Elves and Dwarves didn't utilize this, mourning their loss rather than see each new day. Thorin had stubbornly refused to accept Ered Luin as his holding, always talking of Erebor as if it were just sitting by waiting for him. Bofur and Bombur too spoke of Khazad dum as if it were a living entity, an extension of themselves though they knew the place only through stories of their family.

His Amad opened the chest, pulling from it a velvet bag. The royal Durin runes were stitched in gold thread just recognizable enough to guess what it was. Releasing the drawstring, Dis handed it to Tauriel. Looking at the bag as if it contained vipers, she leaned down to place little Sigrun in her basket by the bed. The child grunted slightly, then lay still. A glance at her husband was filled with anticipation before she dumped the contents on the white bed spread. And gasped with surprised wonder.

Kili knew gems, had grown up understanding them of a sort. The forge and the sword had been his primary crafts. He felt something special at the intricate work that went into the stylized apples with citrine and diamond skin to pair with the reds of intricate rubies. A bowel was produced of hammered gold with diamonds set into the sides of the seven stars of the Khazad. Taking the apples, three of each to arrange them into the bowl. It was startling to see so rich a bounty.

“Bard advised that he gave you apple and fig seeds for Tauriel when you left all those years ago. These apples were worked in Moria probably about the time of your birth, my near daughter. They belong with you since many of those Khazad Dum Longbeards have settled in the Blue Mountains and you are their lady.” Dis pointed to the stars upon the bowl, letting the light twinkle in their facets. “You probably remember the White Gems that Thranduil prized so well? The stones fashioned but the chips were saved.” Dis pointed to the pointed shapes long the bowel’s side. “These stars are made from those gems.”

Tauriel awed at the beautiful work as well the setting of the apples in the bowl. It was a stunning picture and a priceless gift. Antique crafts such as these were rare in last years with the Orcs, Trolls and other blight hoarding the forgotten pieces in caves or abandoned Delvings. His mother looked pleased that her gift suited so well, and for truth it did. Elves prized growing things more than riches, it was a marvelous blend of both.

They didn’t speak of what they had done with the seeds from Bard and Bain. The sanctuary felt more of a private place for his family than open to others. Balin might be told of it, might find himself there. He would read the words and know that it was a memorial to their Eldest for there was no body for them to spread the ash as a Dwarf clan might.

Dis moved again to chest, pulling out another velvet bag. Upending it too, bronze blocks thumped and bounced near Tauriel’s legs. She flinched in surprise but looked on with wonder. Kili knew them, they were the training blocks used for educating Dwarf children on the cardinal gems and secondary semi-precious stones. Looking at them closely, the runes were just as bright as they had been when he and Fili had used them. Amethyst, Ruby, Quartz were imprinted upon three sides with their names written in different languages of Khazad runes, Westron and Elvish.

“Fili and Sigrid’s children have grown into the stripling stages now, too old to play with the blocks. I thought your little ones might enjoy the experience.” The smile she gave was sad, as if she knew that she wouldn’t be a part of their lives as much as she would wish.

A knock sounded at the door, admitting the same handmaiden that had left earlier. She bowed with grace and distinction. “My Lord as requested that the Lady of Ered Luin rest. Another tonic is being mixed to help her sleep.”

“What of the baby?” Dis asked at once, looking over her shoulder to the cradle then to Kili.

“The newling will be safe here. I will sit with them.” The Elf replied but he felt almost censure in her placid voice directed him.

“No.” He gritted, walking around the bed. “She will stay with me this night. I will bring her for another feeding later.”

Picking up the child, dark eyes widened at him as his cherubic daughter suddenly grinned at him. Little fingers reached for his beard, rubbing wet into the construction. His Daughter, he thought, whatever might have fallen upon him to think so meanly of her. Lost in her eyes, he vaguely heard his mother make her farewells and the door close. He used to dream about escaping his ordinary life, but his life was never ordinary. After all the excitement of so many journeys, Kili had simply failed to notice how extraordinary it was.

“My love,” He heard Tauriel say. “Your daughter is pleased to make your acquaintance.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this chapter, I strugged and decided that I didn’t want to post a chapter that was around 12000 words. So I cut and expanded. The chptr count went up by 1 so the worst is yet to come..There will be appropriate warnings for the next chapter.  
> I want to say thank you to everyone who comments, leaves kudos and subscribes.. It means a lot! A special thank you to Cassidy and the Darlings for the idea in this chapter.  
> Sigrun – Valkyrie name that means Victory Rune.  
> Narvi – this was the name of the Dwarf who built the west gate of Moria;


	74. Epilogue Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Should old acquaintance be forgot  
> And never brought to mind  
> Should old acquaintance be forgot  
> And days of Auld Lang Syne
> 
> For Auld Lang Syne, my dear  
> For Auld Lang Syne  
> We'll take a cup of kindness yet  
> For Auld Lang Syne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: discussion of rape and rape survivors..read at your own risk.  
> This is Kili and Tauriel’s POV..

_Kili’s POV_

Kili walked out Tauriel’s room, his babe tucked into the crook of his arm. Eliel had permitted him this pose, grunting in any other. Even when she had reached the age where her legs were longer and more stable, she would attempt to crawl into this arms for a story. It was Tögn who had no use for it, barely allowing him the tactile sensation of her hair. The child that favored him most preferred his wife in all things. It hadn’t hurt, well, it hadn’t hurt too much.

He met his girls at the gates to the healing quarters with Lady Thrud in tow. Eliel had changed her tunic and trousers for a long dress of dark ruby though here was her mother’s Elven blade at her waist secured by a chain. Tögn clutched her sister’s hand, gnawing at her thumb nail. Thrud had wrangled his dark child into long tunic of yellow and matching trousers since she was known to strip out of anything else and run about in the nude. Kili could only hope that she grew out of those inclinations, Dwarrowdam lasciviousness was not tolerated.

Both girls leaned forward to look into his arm at their newest sister. Tögn reached to touch her cheek only to have Eliel yank her hand back. The two hissed at each other about dirty fingers and clean children until Thrud bumped both in the backs to get their attention. Kili rolled his eyes when both girls looked around him to who was standing right behind him now.

The Lady Thrud cleared her throat at the girls, curtsying before the Princess. Eliel followed suit or tried while attempting to get Tögn to mimic them in respect. His dark child was too busy taking in his mother’s appearance as she walked around Kili’s right to get a good look his children. His newling merely yawned at them, wiggling deeper into his arm then closing her eyes.

“Such beautiful girls, Kili.” Dis said to them with a smile. “They do you proud.”

“This is Tögn, Amad.” He indicated to the smaller of the pair. Thrud took a step back from them to take her leave.

She had been invaluable in keeping his daughters from too much trouble. Tögn was crafty, getting into mischief when none existed. The escapade last week with the sheep during a meeting of the White Council was not to be forgiven for a long time. Lindir had turned away every time they had crossed paths.

The girls crowded their grandmother who took a seat close by to be closer to them. Kili watched her take a broach from her pocket to hand to Tögn. Eliel looked on without envy at the gift but she still worked the cuff on her own arm behind her back where she thought no one could see. He remembered the broach, it was an heirloom of Durin’s line that went back to one of the first ones. His mother had been given it at her fifteenth year he had been told. Trying not to read anything in the situation, he looked to Thrud who watched him hold his child.

“I see you have bent a knee to your Lady wife.” There was an envious quality to her voice though the words were snarky.

“I liked it better when you were silent.”

She gave him a humph for good measure but there was no malice in her as there was none in him. Thrud was a Tauriel’s staunchest ally and just as fierce a protector of his children as Tauriel and himself. He knew of many males who had platted the bachelor braid at the hair but she never indicated reception. The Dwarrowdam arched an eyebrow at him now before drawing him to the falls side.

“Lord Elrond wants a word about Eliel.” She spoke but kept an eye upon his eldest daughter.

“What has she done now?” He signed, unable to help where this might go. “There has been nothing since she rode Ninim in the lower pond before Tauriel gave birth.”

His daughter had wanted to bath the poor animal because he had a sweaty smell according to her more sensitive nose. But she had tried to use regular soap that had left bubbles in the water surface for many days. Personally, Kili thought that was why Tauriel went into labor. She hadn’t been able to stop laughing in private.

Thrud, who took a measure of the responsibility for letting Eliel wander, shook her head and tried to suppress a grin. “He had the suggestion that she might benefit from fostering here at Rivendell. Glorfindel might teach her the sword and Erestor might give her a better understand of Elvish diplomacy.” She paused for a beat before adding. “And being half Elven.”

“She is half Dwarf, too.” He responded immediately.

Why did no one see that she was also of Khazad? They saw her height, the slimmer build and burnish hair, mistaking her completely for a child of Man. As if Men were the only race outside of the Elves themselves that might be a suitable mate for the First Folk!

“It is your choice, of course. But it could only help her.” Her words were true and he hated all of them.

“I will think on it. As a father, I want her close always. Yet, it could be good for her in the years to come.”

Thrud walked away as the laughter of his daughters grew louder than the rushing river. Little Sigurn moved her mouth in her sleep, large already for her days from the womb. Thrud walked to his Amad, listening as she regaled some old tale of his childish adventures the girls. His family was changing, growing older. Eliel with her long red hair and flaming personality might thrive here amongst the Elves.   He just wasn’t sure he was ready to let her go.

**88**88**

_Tauriel’s POV_

 

A fire haired Elf sat on a bench at the rise above the pastures. Her gaze was piercing as she watched Eliel and Glorfindel circle each other. She wasn’t sure that was a good idea, but she was willing to allow it for the time they were here.

The birth was a hard one, would take her months to heal rather than weeks. Her body was still very sore, the tissue below had not completely closed though she was permitted some exercise today. The draughts took out the pain for the most part, anything stronger might have hurt little Sigurn through her milk. She could take a little pain if her it meant that her child would be healthy and strong.

Kili had forgiven her, had taken their newling at last. She had been frightened at his initial rejection, scared that he would turn away from her for the deception of bearing a child without his consent. Yet, Tauriel regretted nothing, not when she looked into her child’s eyes and felt her deep happiness. Their child was a golden soul, graceful and pure.

What could she tell him of Sigurn’s conception when she could not explain it to herself? Spring had come early, the warm breath pushed away the mild winter. Tauriel had craved him almost beyond herself, unable to keep away. She drew him from their halls to run into the forests, throwing away the clothes that made her skin itch madly. At the end of the night, when he sank back, spent and fading, Tauriel had professed her love again. Kili seemed to disappear into himself glowing with happiness, his gaze drifting past her to the sky, bristling now with stars that had witnessed their love.

“May I join you?” The voice pulled her from her memories as she looked from her oldest daughter to the tall Elf at her side.

“My lord Erestor.” She spoke quietly, staying seated.

“Your daughter is quite robust.” He said with a smile, nodding to pair in the field below them.

The fresh air she had craved now tasted peculiar as her feelings turned to suspicion. The Half Elvan Lord was not her friend, not like Arwen or Lindir. Glorfindel had been vocal from the first on his dislike for Kili and herself as well as the reasons, Erestor was just aloof. Oddly withdrawn. He had never sought her company and to do so now was passing strange.

“She fights with her heart. Years and training might temper the emotion.” She spoke the words but hoped she was wrong. There was nothing wrong with having sympathy for an enemy, else she wouldn’t be here now as a mother three times.

Tauriel watched them, wincing when Eliel took a hit to leg to grunt in pain. The pair used wooden swords, rounded rather than flat to dull the strikes somewhat. It was a beginner’s piece, a way to teach footing for an Elf before they really learned their art and gained the speed for it. Watching her daughter learn ‘the polls’ made her remember her own teachings under Legolas. Eliel’s Dwarven father had mercy where Legolas had determination. A father would coddle her, love her, and if Tauriel were honest, such sentiment would get Eliel killed in battle.

“You should let her stay. Eliel would learn much from being here. It is a practice of Dwarves to foster their young to improve efficiency.” He said it sterilely, appealing to her Elven objectivity.

“What plans have Lord Elrond for my child?” Sometimes to flush the snakes, one has to beat the grass. “Glorfindel has no love for the parents but wishes to train the child? What could _you_ teach her other than to hate herself for having a Dwarven parent.”

Erestor looked at her for the longest time. His eyes took the surreal glow of spirit that only the highest blooded might achieve. And he was only _half_ Elven. Noldorian blood was strong no matter the ratio. He sighed silently looking off in the distance.

“I would teach her how to accept what comes, my Lady, to love they who might hate for hate’s sake. I would take her to the Old Forests for an introduction to Iarwain Ben –adar.” He looked back to the pair again, losing his hold on the part that was purely harshly cold. “More than this, I would teach her how to be more than just half of anything or a child of two races as your husband calls her. Eliel would know that there is a place for her in this world if the rest of it doesn’t accept her. Or if something happens to her family.”

Tauriel couldn’t refute him, shifting once more in the seat. He was right, of course, he was always right. The house of Elrond had fostered the Heirs of Isildur for more generations than she had lived, back to the beginning. Each one had walked forth into the wilderness, leading their dying tribe, not for glory or riches but to keep the last of the blooded Numenoreans alive. They lived for Gondor and Arnor, for its fading beauty and the hope that it would return. They would teach her daughter the Elvish lore, a fighting style that could compliant her size and speed.

Bonds woven in the heart and soul between a mother and child are not easily sundered. One child could never replace another, she had learned that years ago. She could still hum her Eldest’s song, Eliel’s, Togn’s and Sigurn. They were imprinted in her memory for all time. Tauriel sat beside the Lord and contemplated how empty their home might be without Eliel fill it with her laughter.

**88**88**

Kili’s POV

Two pigeons arrived with news that Kili had not been expecting. Balin had come to Ered Luin as his mother advised only just arriving. Rather than make the rounds of old friends, seeing the new parts of the Delving that Kili had refashioned, there was talk that he would be riding off to the Shire! The censure was great according to the elders who had taken it as bad form. A son of Durin arrived yet almost refused fine Dwarvish beer and roastings!

Confused at this new turn, Kili conferred to Tauriel who admitted that she had no head for subtlety. If Balin had discussed seeing the Hobbit, it might be out of a genuine want to do so.   Her pretty smile had taken him in, making him wish for more than just the kisses and light stroking of his beard. At the end of their night, his wife convinced him to travel to Bagend to seek the answers on his own. The Elves would protect them as any new mother and child under their roof, she assured him when he protested the most. With Tauriel mending but slow, she was confined for the interim. If he took the journey, Kili might have other things to think about besides the pleasure he missed in Tauriel’s arms.

A party of Dunedain rangers stopped through on their way to Bree, giving Kili an idea. Asking permission from Lord Elrond, the rangers agreed to take Kili on as an outrider as far as they were going. The Wild was no place to run about alone, and the Lord of Ered Luin knew he needed to have the talk with Balin on what he was doing in Ered Luin as well as the dangers of Khazad Dum. His mother would leave soon, with Burin and the others who travelled with her. Balin might travel far to the south of Rivendell, denying Kili the chance. Bilbo might be the intermediary, Bagend could the neutral site for their talks.

The thought of seeing Bilbo again, stopped him cold. Kili had lived so close to the Hobbit for so many years, yet he had refused to see him. Bilbo had known where Tauriel had fled, knew what had happened to her but said nothing of her whereabouts or condition. There had been correspondence, so many letters back and forth between the Mountain and the Shire. Why had he never told of her going to Rivendell? Kili refused to believe that Fili, or Balin knew and never said. They had seen his pain, setting him on the path to be pushed on by his Amad.

He couldn’t take Sigurn with him, and that bunched his thoughts into chaos. Dwarven fathers were responsible for the babies, and this was another failing. He saddled Ninim while Eliel watched from the corner all the while wishing the spotted pony was Warg. Kili missed his old companion, missed his stubborn demeanor.

There were good byes, both for his children and his mother. The sweetness was bitter indeed when he kissed Tauriel, with tears in both of them pulling at each other. Their partings were never pleasant so they happened rarely. He couldn’t take the chance that sometime might happen to his girls while he was away and she couldn’t bear it if he died on some byway. Kili knew that it brought back forgotten hurts of that long time where they were parted, when then they were unable to talk, to touch, to love.

Another journey, another task that took him from his family. The dull drum of his heart thumped in his ears as he rode from Rivendell with the Rangers. It was the same feeling he had went he left for Erebor, as if he might be seeing them for the last time. The lives of his loved ones were longer than his but why test the gods? The roads had been perilous, all manner of dark and dangerous lurking in bends for the unwary. Never in his memory did he feel so guarded with himself on his travels.

The country side blurred at the edges as the host sped over hill and dale. Goblins crept from the shadows at the day’s end, looking to kill or maim for sport. There were other archers in the company, yet none had his experience. Their skills with close quarters fighting was much better than their hand with a bow. They fought with still, heart and a need to push back the rolling evil. Orc packs might be heard howling in the night, even on the rainy ones that made Kili draw his hood tighter about his head. It was his children’s name on his lips as he drifted to sleep each night and Tauriel’s in the morning when he woke.

Trollshaws, Weather Hills, Midgewater…The names of old places where older battles were fought and forgotten. His guardian days had brought him in and about this region often. It looked like the scenery had not changed since those long ago days. When last he was here, Fili and he had just finished a job to Fornost when word reached them that Thorin wanted a meeting at Bagend. The memories flowed like water as the remembered landmarks crashed into thoughts of laughing comrades and blooded enemies.

The Rangers found Bree at the end of the second week upon the road, the same quiet hamlet. Kili had lived in the saddle for more days then he had wanted to bear in mind. A sore bum was a constant confidante, telling him that he was softer now than ever in his life. Parting ways was a stilted affair, the Dunedain had accepted his company and he their protection. From Bree, he would travel alone to the Shire. Another week on the road would put his arrival to Bilbo’s house about the same time as Balin’s.

He took advantage of the bed and a hot bath. The meal was good enough, yet was high cuisine next to the stews and jerky he eaten on the road for the last weeks. The Prancing Pony was a waystation for many who were looking for a quiet place to lay their head for the night. It wasn’t his own, his loving Elf wasn’t near, so he made do as one of Durin’s Folk had done for the countless Wandering Years. The hope that bloomed in his breast like a sunflower begged for an ending where life and death passed them by like leaves in a rushing brook.

The road to the Shire was the same, open and empty. Before when he and Fili made the trip, they had been singing of speckled Dwarrowdams and tankards of ale that never ended. There is a lonely existence when a body travels alone. Kili bedded down in the troughs between hills, with squirrels and birds for company or in the middle of tall fields of growing corn. He had wished about then he had brought Hati with him, not only for the presence but also a second set of eyes and ears. Ninim was learning but still spooked too easily. The young stallion didn’t have the experience to know what to fear and what to fight as his father did. Warg had just fought everything.

Kili reached Hobbiton by midafternoon, having taken the time to tend to his braids and hair. While the braids were neat and clean, the string ties were replaced with beads and clips that bore the Durin’s sigil.   Shiny things attract attention, the last thing any solitary traveler wants. Blended hoods and tough boiled leather were good for the journey but not when meeting the Hobbit who he had once called his friend.

He rode the gate much to the chagrin of obvious gossips who failed to engage him. He remembered the way right enough, though the new presence of the large oak in the distance reminded him strongly of the ones that grew near Beorn’s home far to the east. Several Hobbits had followed his progress into their town, a good handful of yards behind him. There was whispering louder than the breeze off the pond, yet each supposition made him smile.  

Riding up the gate, he could see a large goat hobbled atop the small hill. A older ram with intricate spirals that denoted his age raised his head as if the weight upon it was nothing at all. Kili smiled at the sight, knowing the old Dwarf was inside. He probably arrived last evening, staying the night to reminisce with the wily burglar. Balin had always preferred the battle rams to ponies, said they were better on the disposition for long trips.

Knocking on the rounded green door, he stepped back to allow for himself to be viewed though the peephole. No matter his reservations for the seeing Bilbo again, he couldn’t stop the grin when he heard the Hobbit shouting within. “Balin! I will be right back.”

The door swung open to reveal a much shorter individual. Still ginger and brown to mix into a burnished note upon his head but there was whiter stands into the curls that wasn’t there twenty years ago. No beard of course, Hobbits possessed sideburns like a Dwarrowdam without the fuller chin hair that grew with age. It could be why Bilbo was so appealing to Thorin, his smaller qualities were closer to the females of Khazad.

The patterned waistcoat was the same as was the short pants and hairy feet. The pocket watch was looped through the button hole, no doubt the same one he had used to try and wrangle the other members of the company into a schedule of sorts. White long sleeve shirt buttoned to the neck was the same and for all that, he had not aged at all.

“Kili?” He gasped, the wide brown eyes grew wider still.

“Is tea still available, Master Boggins?” Kili joked, tucking back his bow.

The raucous greetings of old friends ensued, with much back slapping and expressions of surprise. Bilbo shooed off the nosy neighbors who were congregating at the gate, straining their necks for a better view of the reunion. They grumbled along, casting looks over their shoulders for one last tidbit for discussion at the local tavern, no doubt.

Kili’s loud cheer brought forth the object of his trip, Balin shuffled into view. The Dwarf was older now, wrinkled and drawn from too much travelling with no real rest. It would take several days for the white haired male to find himself once more. How he thought to take Moria was quite beyond Kili’s thinking. Though the heavy bejeweled belt at his waist might have something to do with his slow gate. The silver plating accented the sapphires that were the size of a thumb nail. His portion of the treasure was well spent of trivial ornaments. Even his chin braids had sapphire chips in the silver clips.

The two exchanged greetings, quiet and wary. Balin knew that Kili wasn’t here for a visit to the Shire, no, the son of Fundin was much sharper than that. There was no knocking of heads, nothing beyond the simple trade of good wishes. If Bilbo was discomforted by the pair, it never showed. He scrambled into the kitchen to put a kettle on.

Bagend had not changed, not overly in the years. Kili marveled at its seamlessness, a home’s ability to always be what the owner needed. Tauriel had disagreed when she moved into Thorin’s halls but then to an outsider, there is always need for improvement. Bagend was Bilbo’s place, the floorboards worn by large hairy feet. Smoke rings on the ceiling haloed his favorite chair, telling of the hours his friend had sat there reading or just watching the flames.

Passing into another room, the Dwarf lord saw a desk pushed up against a round window. Sheaves of paper were stacked rather haphazardly, stuffed between books or under them and all with smudged edges of repetitive touching. A high backed wood chair pushed askew of the desk was old, probably his Da’s. Kili could see Bilbo here, quiet in the room and happy with the quiet. The Hobbit was more introspective, having had a better relationship with Balin on the tact of Dwarves than in his love affair with Thorin.  

He breathed out a humorless laugh as he tried to imagine Thorin, living here with Bilbo. The son of Thrain would have been fine for a month, taking himself to household bliss of constantly being fed and bedding down with his lover every night. After a month, he would have been itching to do something: work in a forge, mending some tools, sneaking off to try and kill Orcs in the evenings. Inside of six months, Thorin would have been plotting to structure Bilbo’s life for a better use of his resources. Maybe less than six months.

Old hurts chased away his smile, making Kili wish for different memories. He felt them every time he walked through the Halls in Ered Luin, expecting Thorin or Fili to meet him at the end of a corridor. It was one of the reasons he had built a new hall for his family, new walls that will hold the laugher of his children and the love of his wife. There had been no snark from the inhabitants when he had carved his hall, many taking it as a gesture of love for his Elf rather than the true reason to leave Thorin behind.

Kili kept turning in the room, taking it all in. His eyes stopped at pair of swords on the wall, tripping his nostalgia once more. The one on the left was Fili’s, an earlier effort but one that he had on hand if he lost his axe. Like the first axe that Kili sometimes carried, it was a testament to the artistry that they had learned early at Uncle’s knee. His brother had received the instruction better than Kili on what weapon was good for a job, if he didn’t have it Fili made it.

The other sword, Kili realized was his own. One of Fili’s again, something that almost made him weep. Take up a weapon and you become an instrument with as untainted a purpose as the weapon itself: to find arteries and open them, limbs and sever them; to take what is alive and deliver it unto death. What is not so well known is the relationship with the blade. You clean it, sharpen it, until not any part of that weapon is unknown. He could remember the feel of the hilt in his hand, how his fingers closed on the weight if he were wearing his thick gloves.

Kili had carried Orcrist at his side for the last years of his life with his bow at his back but it was that sword on the wall that felt like his. Orcrist, he would give to Eliel who he had caught eyeing closely one day, if she was of a mind to bear it and not something else. He looked at the lines of the sword on the wall from the pommel to the curved tip, just looking. He could take it back or ask Bilbo why he had it and Fili’s. Reminders, perhaps? The Hobbit had his own memories and if the sword helped them, Kili would wish him fair journey with it. The sword had a home too, as he did, maybe they would meet each other again.

“Kili!” Balin called. “We are just setting down!”

Leaving the study, his boots thumped hard on the threshold as he wiggled into a seat beside the old Dwarf. Balin was almost completely white of hair, too far into his dotage by anyone’s opinion to go to Moria. He had seen Erebor under Thror, survived Azanuibizar, the wandering years before the settlement of Ered Luin, then the reclamation of Erebor by Thorin. He had enough adventures for several lifespans of Men, yet Dwarrowdelf called him. It would be his last adventure, Kili was sure of it.

The conversation turned as it might from interpersonal things to gossip of new children to other things that Kili had been appraised of before his journey here. Sigrid was never happier than when her children were learning to do something the right way. It is evidence of her affection and patience that the children did not rebel. In fact, they appeared to have thrived. The Princesses grew like sunflowers, blond and bright spirited.

A new generation had come to the Lonely Mountain, some were a surprise, others long awaited. A son had been born to Oin and Willa, a healthy bouncing child. Several Dwarrowdams had attempted a claiming of Gimli but he refused much to his father, Gloin’s annoyance. An Umli half Dwarf had come to visit and claimed Bifur, three years previously. The axe in his head nor the speech impediment stopped him from fathering a son, Bosi. Bofur had a fight with Nori and spent time with a widow of Dale for spite. The result of that interlude was named Brogur and had his Adad’s sense of mischief.

Dwalin and Olrun had welcomed a son by name of Frerin, in honor of Kili’s uncle. He was a corker, Balin said with a twinkle, obviously spoiled from all sides of his family. The old Dwarf went on to say that whatever spoils he found in Moria, he would give to Frerin upon his death. If he obtained any honors or titles, they would be passed on as well. There was no mention to the subject of Kili’s lordship, no female had sat a throne without a male at her side. A fact that his mother had reminded him in Rivendell.

Fian, Fili and Sigrid’s eldest, had gone to stay in Lake Town now that Bain had taken over as it Lord, a new title granted upon his marriage. Fian would need to understand Men and have dealings with them on a more integrated level than the knowledge he might gain in the Mountain. He would apprentice there for five years, then pick up into the Stripling system after that. It was considered a bold move for the heir apparent to the richest delving in Arda, also he was considerably attached to a certain Dwarrowdam from the Iron Hills. He was deemed too young to try and court the female.

Vian, however, had been fostered to the Iron Hills as Thorin, Frerin and Dwalin had been. There had been vehement opposition from Fili’s council for the safety of the King under the Mountain’s second son due to Dain’s treason. Fili advised that it was the first step in repairing the distance between the two realms of their Kingdom. The Stonehelm sent ravens to his progress, praise also for Vian’s deft handling of weapons. The lad would most likely take a position in Erebor’s council in his later life, working through the same Stripling system that his brother would.

Kili felt no anger that Ered Luin had not been chosen to foster either of the Princes, he assured Bilbo and Balin. The Blue Mountains was a long journey from Erebor, taking months under good weather and fair travelling. With the Queen well into her fourth decade, should something befall her, the Princes would be too far to come to her side quickly. The Dwarf Lord understood the love of children, it was one of the reasons he had refused Fili’s requests for Eliel to come to Erebor.

“Speaking of fostering.” Kili began with a mouth full of tomatoes that squished and dribbled down his chin. He could have bad manners here, Tauriel wouldn’t see. “How many are you taking from Ered Luin to fill out your ranks to Moria, Balin?”

Balin squinted at him as he lowered the ale. “There is no indenture in Ered Luin, all Dwarves are free to follow their path. A number of the half bloods are expressing interest to go.”

Kili remembered the children of Dwarves that were born in Dale. He also remembered how they were treated in council. “The half blood children are too young to go and fight for their lives every day. Gloin wouldn’t allow Gimli to join the Company and he is but a decade or less my younger. Or do you mean this to be a Children’s crusade?”

“As their lord, you would be notified.” Balin continued as if Kili hadn’t spoken. “It is only fair since it is their industry you are losing. But they are not bound to the Delf in a Kithậd system!”

It mattered little that the halfblooded children might grow faster than a Dwarf of no other ancestry. Their bodies might be big, might be ready for the harder fighting, however, what lay between their ears might not be able to withstand the horror. Kili didn’t suppose that having the blood of Man in their veins made them less capable, only no child should be robbed of a childhood.

“Children are still children. You would know that if you had any of your own.” Kili told him with a mouthful of rolls, thinking of his own. He could relate to Gloin wanting to keep his son from danger as long as he could. “I don’t enslave my people, Balin. If you chip off too much of a gem, what’s left will be too small to sell. If Ered Luin loses too many of its crafters, the holding itself will fold.”

The argument was lost on the son of Fundin, thinking of the expedition to come. There was no reasoning with him now. If he beat the odds and retook the halls, Balin would be a very rich lord in his own right with more income to go Erebor and Fili. The Delving will need almost an entire generation of crafters from every corner of Arda to fill the immensity to make it worthwhile. It would not only be Ered Luin that would lose its population but other delvings, Erebor, Iron Hills. Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur were Longbeards of Moria, they might return to it. As much as he hated it, Kili could understand Dain’s frustration at watching his people and crafters leave for another delving with no idea of how to replace it.

However, the inroads under the Misty Mountains will be controlled again by Dwarves rather than the Goblin scum that tried to trap them when first they crossed some twenty years ago. There was too much upheaval for Grimbeorn and his Beornlings to manage. Trade caravans from Minas Tirth, Rohan might cut weeks from their time, going through Moria rather than the Gap of Rohan to the south. Secured passages were worth their own weight in a world turning on its ear from the increased threat from the Far East.

The talk shifted as was it’s due to the past with no other feelings to keep the dam in place. Thorin had trampled Bilbo's poor, pining heart, and the wound was still raw, even these many years later. Power does not willingly give up its place to truth, doesn’t care about right and wrong anymore than madness. Kili tried to speak of the last days in Lake town, the little that he remembered since Fili wasn’t there to fill in the blanks. Thorin had left, wanting the Mountain more than caring if his sister son lived through the night.

“It was brave," countered Bilbo softly. "It was the love for all that he did it, and it was a beautiful rare thing. It’s why the ending hurt worse than being cooked by Smaug’s flames. It’s why I have never gone back so far in my life.”

The early days of any relationship are infinitely the most blissful. Two individuals examine themselves and the other to find where they were lacking, wanting nothing more than to close all the little gaps that existed between their bodies, to collapse into one being. One mind, soul and body. Many find that they themselves become better for the wanting, the worship of another, needing to see their better soul in the other’s eyes. It doesn’t necessarily end in love but the joy it brings through that time period is incomparable.

 

Dwarves bound themselves the same way as Elves, it was how he knew that Tauriel loved him truly. Love was just as great a force of nature as hate. The world opens up into a blinding spectrum, more beautiful than any hoard in any delving. Kili had come to think of like colors as something fantastic that exists only in his mind - the red of a tomato sliced and salted at the table, the deep blue of a sapphires on Balin’s ostentatious belt, the inky hue of his daughter's hair in the torch light. To hear the same passion from the Hobbit showed him that he wasn’t so much alone as understood for loving outside his race.

Balin thanked Bilbo for the supper, turning into one of the many open rooms that he had to spare. The old chancellor was still as wily as a twice damned Blacklock when it came to talking about things that might be ignored for lighter conversation. Now in the late of the night, he wasn’t there to hold off the questions that Kili needed answered.

In the firelight, the Lord of Ered Luin remembered a long ago night when the company fell through a round door into a Hobbit’s hole to sweep him off to an adventure. Songs were sung around this hearth, the days of sanity before the worst day of his life began. The orange and red flames highlighted the gray hair mixed in the auburn curls but he was just as spry as he had been to race after them and join the company of Thorin Oakenshield. He gestured for Kili to take a seat across from him and he packed the bowl of his pipe then handed the leaf pouch to his guest.

“You never leave the Shire now?” Kili began, not sure if the subject might be turned to a course of his favor.

“Rarely.” The hobbit replied as he took a glowing twig to his pipe. He drew in to get the fire to light the pipeweed. “I congratulate you upon your children. Gandalf told me of the new little girl. She is your third?”

“Yes!” Kili smiled glad to have a point of discussion. “A fat little Dwarrowdam she will be. Eliel has the look of an Elf while Tögn and I suppose Sigurn will take after me.”

“I am sure the Queen under the Mountain was joyous to have a child named after her.”

Kili smiled, his memory of Sigrid was dim over the passage of years. Like Bilbo, her curls were salted with age. “I hope so, she is much beloved in the Mountain. You should go back for a visit, see what Dale as become.”

Bilbo shook his head sadly. To forgive and forget, to bury the past in a hole deeper than a Hobbit might dig was a mighty undertaking. The male sitting across from him had wagered against Thorin’s love to save them all, to force Thorin’s hand by giving the Arkenstone to Bard and Thranduil. The rage of a thwarted Dwarf, King or no, was not something to gamble lightly. Kili watched the old hurts, the shadows of despair upon Bilbo’s face.

“If someone you love forces you, is it still rape? What do you do with that… in the morning light? When you have to face them, you see that they are valuing you less and less. Like an object or a thing.” He was puffing steadily on his pipe now as memories came back to him, pain he wished to forget. “Love isn’t about possessing,… should never be about _taking_.”

Kili had no answers or questions, merely letting the Burglar talk his fill. Bilbo had earned the right of his thoughts and feelings, conveying them to a sister-son of a man that even now dominated the Hobbit’s life. He had done what others would never have considered in defying Thorin who was steeped in gold lust and Dragon sickness. And Bilbo had paid, so dearly for what he had known to be right.

“Is that why you didn’t tell me where Tauriel was?” There was no condemnation in his voice, Kili couldn’t judge him for what Bilbo had thought to be right.

The Hobbit picked up the tankard of ale, taking a deep draft. Conversations, bad ones, always flow easier when there is good drink at hand. He wasn’t sure what had started this, maybe seeing Balin and Kili in the same place again after all these years. Dwarves were not plentiful north of the Ered Luin, it was doubtful if any looked to the Shire for what reason.

“She had lost so much, was hurting so deeply. I felt she had earned the right of choice, to decide her own future.” Bilbo looked across the expanse to him. “I remember when you snuck her in the Mountain, holed up in that chamber far from the others.” A smile eased his tight lips a little. “I know love when I see it, Kili. Had I told you she was there, you would have gone to her. Pushed and persuaded until she went back to Erebor, then where would things stand?”

“We would be together, Bilbo. For six years, she was waiting for me to come to her and I knew not where she was.” Kili exhaled long in the night. “Tauriel made a promise to Thorin, vowed that she would never set foot in Dale or Erebor. She made the promise to try and save the life of our child that she carried, but all for naught. The arrow’s poison killed our son. But Tauriel with her Elf sense of honor would not let her come back to the mountain.”

Kili in that moment wanted to hate him, sending him word of Tauriel would have been a simple thing. But he as much as anyone understood how choices and decisions are perverted by other people. He could see how love went so wrong for his friend. Thorin had misused the Hobbit that much was clear. What might have started as gentle caring that might have grown into love between the two males had been twisted by the Arkenstone until his uncle became the despot they all had feared. The gold sickness had been like Thror’s ring maybe, expounding the worst of Thorin’s darker urges and desires.

“It was I who managed to get Thorin to let her go. Make no mistake, he wanted her dead. So did Dain.” Bilbo hutched into the chair, remembering, the fear leaking from his pores was stronger than the pipeweed. “The things he made me.. those nights…He wasn’t himself, he wasn’t the Thorin I knew!”

Kili shook his head quietly, finally lighting his own pipe. No, the Thorin in Erebor had not been the one anyone knew. Ravaged and sick, he had done things to his lover that was a travesty of love. The glow of the Hobbit’s pipe highlighted white lines at his throat and along his fingers. Things he might have gotten battle if he were a warrior. Kili carried some guilt even now that he was too far enamored with Tauriel to see how badly his Uncle had fallen. He wasn’t alone, others felt the same. Over the years, he might stray into a conversation where the Hobbit’s name was mentioned. It always killed the discussion completely.

“It is terrible how much has been forgotten, the whys and why fors get lost when the smoke clears and the dead are counted and mourned.” The Hobbit drew on the pipe with deliberate flexing of his lips though his mind was elsewhere. “One day I’ll remember…. Remember everything that happened: the good, the bad, those who survived… and those who that did not.”

Kili said nothing more to him as Bilbo continued to smoke his pipe, letting the tears race down his pump cheeks. Anything else would bring forth the memories that the Hobbit couldn’t bear. All he could do was wish him well, wish him happiness. The Burglar’s heart was still in the past, still trying to reconcile the Dwarf he had loved with the ending that took so much from so many. But Kili had found Tauriel and they had made a life where Bilbo was still picking up the pieces to his shattered heart.

“May I stay the night?” He felt criminal for asking, so he added quickly. “I will leave in the morning. Hopefully Tauriel will be closer to the mend when I return to Rivendell.”

“Of course! It is the least I might give, my friend. You and your family will always be welcome here.” Bilbo lurched from his chair as Kili went to the door. “I hope that you will accept my apology for the years you lost.” He tapped out the ashes before he turned back to the Dwarf at the door. “Balin is going to leave in a few days, after that, well..”

“You deserve your joy, Bilbo. I have mine.”

The years had been kind to the Lord of Ered Luin where they had ignored the Baggins of Bag End. Tauriel and he had started roughly, abrupt and rude. But there had been love, just waiting for them to wake up to the possibility. When they realized it, it was snatched away like a prized dagger. Yet, their love had not died, just waited for the pair to pick it up again. Bilbo didn’t have that opportunity with Thorin falling in the battle. Their love had started the same, yet ended in one life going one alone.

The Hobbit relaxed somewhat as he walked through the corridors to the room suites. The Dwarf watched him go, the harsh emotions leaked away only to be replace by a sense of foreboding. Blood, battles and death. Every conversation would begin with that and end with it for years to come. Kili had felt it in Rivendell, in Bree, and in the tense outlines of the Rangers. Wars were coming again, more death, more blood and bodies of those he loved. It would touch every part of Arda, he and his family would be lucky to live through it.

The survivors will always envy the dead for they have been spared the aftermath of war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have seen pics of Thorin and some of the weirdness of his Dragon/Gold Sickness. It seems plausible to me that he was really out of his mind and could hurt the ones he loves. I couldn’t get in detail with the experience. To me, it was enough to mention small scars on his hands and neck speaking of abuse. Rape is a horrible crime to men and women and it isn’t something I am fond of writing.  
> In the Mines of Moria expansion pack of the LOTR’s Online game, Bofur had a son name Brogur. The same goes for Bifur’s son, Bosi. I want to say there is a son for Dori too but I couldn’t find it again.  
> Kithad – Khudzul for chain.. I used this in the context of a contract for workers in a delf. Ext: master smith, armorer, jeweler.


	75. Epilogue Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Expedition to Moria begins

Third Age 2989  Forty Seven Years after BOTFA

The pair walked into the bright sunshine.  Morning had come despite Willa’s objections and mental pleadings.  Her husband was leaving her, going with his kin to retake or try to retake Moria.

Oin rubbed his chapped fingers over hers, partly in consolation and partly in need. The flare of physicality was a learned response to the older Dwarf, but still just as harsh no matter their age.  She hated that he was leaving her now after they had made a life at the mountain. The banners whipped in the glowing warmth of the sun, the crisp snap was no distraction.  Only a dreaded reminder.

Two would be removed from the high balcony, a symbol of the Lonely Mountain’s grant to the expedition. They would be carried proudly enroute to be planted in the Dwarf Lord’s Gate in the Great Delving.  It would be a long fight from the Gates to get that far.  No doubt, Balin would take the Palace of Nain for himself as the presumptive Lord of Moria.  Willa wanted to scoff at the thought. The son of Fundin had earned Willa’s enmity, the ceaseless push for this foolhardy attempt.

Balin weaved among the different groups with Ori at his side, checking off the different provisions if he was satisfied.  Willa identified the careless strut of his arrogance even at this distance. The beetle male had niggled and cajoled her husband, not quite bulling and never in her presence. She would have handed him bejeweled belt and force fed him every link, the gluttonous feeble. Yet, it was Oin who had decided in the end that a healer would be needed since Thekk was now taking more of the responsibility in Erebor’s healing halls. At his age of 215, Oin had earned his peace and a warm hearth with Willa and their son, Gori. When he had told her of his decision, she had cried, deep wailing sobs.  Out of fear, out of longing, and most of all… dread.

Other Dwarves had felt like Willa. The grumblings, like an avalanche, refused to abate.  Each saying that while the Misty Mountains, Mount Gundabad and Dol Guldor had emptied itself to throw their forces against Thorin, the shadow of evil didn’t feel far away from the Mountain. A massive army had broken itself upon the Durin’s rock, fractured and scattered. Yet, others who knew the wilds, and travelled the byways said that evil was growing in their world. Over two score years and then some had passed since the Great Battle. Plenty of time for the Orcs to rally, more than enough to have replenished their ranks.

Frar appeared at Balin’s left hand, his Iglishmêk too rapid for her to follow. Oin was too busy inching his fingers long her sleeves with his eyes closed to catch the scene.  Under most circumstances, it was easier for Oin to translate than for Willa herself to figure it out. Sigrid had made it look so effortless, the beauty of her graceful hands fluttering to accent the words she spoke. No matter that her forging years had been learning some Khuzdul, it wasn’t her cradle speech. Her mam had not been ashamed of her Khazad heritage but it wasn’t flounced in the face of the local villagers.

They would take to the road, going through the Elven wood to the Beornlings’ hovels near the Anduin.  There, Prince Kili would meet them with the pilgrims from Ered Luin who had agreed to take up the quest. They had planned to take the High Pass rather than try to meet Balin somewhere in the middle of the Dwarrowdelf by coming from the Rivendell end.  The Prince, himself, was not taking the quest, saying that his family in Ered Luin needed him more than gold or mithril that might come from it.  He would journey south from there to meet his Elven wife in Lothlorian. 

Kili had not forgotten his family at Erebor, coming every few years to see families that had been so close to him in his forging years.  He had stayed a year previously, when his eldest daughter Eliel had come to Lake Town to foster with Prince Bain.  The Elf child had refused to come to the Mountain, saying that the memories of her Nana there were too raw to permit her entry.  It didn’t stop the Princesses Rota and Kara from visiting their cousin and uncle at the Lake to form a deep bond of friendship.  Eliel had the look of her mother, and more of her wisdom according to the Thane’s mother.  Kili was bursting with pride whenever her name was mentioned or her prowess in training was lauded.

It was a fine time for the Prince to lose some of his fighters when the Firebeards were pressing close to his borders.  No one knew why the descendants were stirred and angry, many had left the Kili’s governship to form their own community further north.  There was stealing in the night, shops that were not a part of Thorin’s or Frerin’s halls were being sacked. Kili was managing it to the best of his ability, his lady, Tauriel, at his side.  The pair were most formidable in battle.

Dis had taken to her Elven near daughter, more so than any might have thought.  She had spent many months in Rivendell when the Lady Tauriel gave birth to their last daughter, Sigurn. The Athane had blushed scarlet at the news of a child of theirs being named in a fashion after herself.  Dis and Sigrid had thrown many tokens into the great fire for Mahal’s blessing upon Kili’s family. There had been talk of Sigrid travelling to Rivendell with the Princess Tilda as a halfway point to meet with the Ered Luin family again.  However, that had been before the accident, afterward none one felt like leaving for any point that took them far from their King.

 _Sigrid_ …

The hard bite of tears always followed the thoughts of the Queen in waiting. Time had not lessened the sting of her death.  Sigrid, daughter of King Bard the Dragonslayer was dead. On a return trip from Dale, her horse had spooked at a ledge near the Overlook when a flock of Crebain had been startled from their rest in the brush. The birds had swarmed the panicked animal in their flight, causing the mare to rear tall then lose its footing. The horse had slipped down the embankment crushing Sigrid against the shale as the animal rolled and kicked down the twenty foot slide. There was no saving her, no medicine that could be administered to heal her mangled body.

The Ravens had come, searching for the flock for weeks but to no avail.  Burin had stated that it was too much of a coincidence that two riders had walked by the same bush and that it was the Queen’s horse that startled them.  Willa didn’t know about that, couldn’t know at what games might be planned or who might gain from Sigrid’s death.  All she knew was that her friend and the child she had watched grow into a fine lady was dead. Nothing on this good earth would bring her back.  Whether or not Sigrid sat in stone for Fili mattered not a jolt to Willa.  She knew that Sigrid would fight any door warden to be with her family in any hall of Mandos.  So great was her love, it had been the last thing she had said before her spirit fled the pain of her ruined body, Burin had said.

Her sigh was lost in the shuffle of bodies and animals.  There was no Sigrid to go to, to beg to stop this foolishness.  Dis had been in favor of the reclamation attempt but had stayed that now in light of the Athane’s death.  She was the defacto head of the Water Chamber unless Fili took another wife which was highly unlikely.  Vigdis, as Crown Princess, took a measure of the responsibility of the Dwarrowdams but had no real influence with the King.  The Water Chamber was silent and would be until Vigdis sat at Fian’s right hand upon the Mountain Throne.  That would be more years than what Willa herself would be granted by the Valar. Fian was at the beginning of his life where Willa was approaching her ending too.

Trying and failing to hold her tears, she saw the Princess Tilda in the distance handing a bundle and two satchels of what she could only assume to be healing herbs and bandages.  Thekk would have already done so, but Tilda’s knowledge was more extensive.   Willa still went to the village in emergencies but it was more for teaching the others to help Princess Tilda when she returned from Gondor years before. The Princess of Dale had distinguished herself as being a champion of the poor, the sick and the injured.  She had never married, preferring the society of her assistant, Vila, to that of a Man.

Another Dwarf called to Oin but he didn’t acknowledge him.  He stared at her, as if it were the first time. A new set of wrinkles had found a home upon his brow, making him look more pleated as he aged. It would be a long year or more before Oin would allow her to make the trek to Moria.  He would not risk her life to Orcs and other fell things that might live in the deeps.

“Where is Burin?” Willa asked, breaking the spell his gaze had wrought.  She looked around once more for the younger male but couldn’t see him.

“He has changed his mind.” Their son Gori answered, staring up at the sky to mark the passage of time. “Or more likely, he finally stopped running from Rota.”

Their son, Gori, stood tall with a bored air, at his mother’s side. Willa swatted him when a few others close at hand heard this comments. His hair was lighter than his cousin, Gimli’s, more strawberry than auburn. At thirty-six years of his Stripling age, he wore only the training braids and dark gray tunic with a steel and obsidian markers for the foundry.  He would be a master one day, everyone said, better than Grithur in his prime.  The child had been a surprise that came to the pair when Willa herself had thought her quite beyond the age of bearing. Oin had not considered children of his own either, always saying he would help raise Gimli’s nuggets should the russet Dwarrow be lucky to find a female who would have him.  Burin need only look beyond the end of his nose to find that Rota had wanted him for so very long.

Gori was too young and had no experience fighting Orcs other than what he had learned in his barracks rotation.  He was happiest in the forges, with metal and jewels songs for company.  He would be of great assistance once Dwarrowdelf was settled once more, possibly a master by that time.  No plans were made as yet for the rich deposits, at least not in her knowing.  The fires of Khazad Dum would not be lit for some years to come. Plenty of time for their son to be the Dwarf of Durin’s line, even if his mam had some Mannish blood.

The great trumpets blared from the balcony, four Dwarrows sounded the advance of their Thane.  Willa and Oin startled apart, looking around at the different groups.  Fili, King under the Mountain, walked from the Great Gates down the causeway with a procession of Dwarves and councilors at his back.  The Princess Dis was to his immediate side, carrying the banners to be hoisted into Moria as a sign of their reclamation. Prince Fian and his lady, Vidgis, walked behind him with the Princesses Kara and Rota following.  Willa felt a tug of grin as she, indeed, saw Burin in Rota’s wake.  Only closer examination might reveal if the Dwarrow was in fact claimed by a Princess of Erebor.

The King looked tired, maybe still drunk from his nights in the tavern. Closely trimmed in mourning rites, there were no braids upon him either in his beard or his close cropped hair. His step was a bit uneven, a wobble of a male who might have more ale in his belly than food. Willa found she couldn’t blame him for seeking solace in the bottom of a tankard when all there was in his chamber was an empty bed. Fili had loved his wife devotedly, as did she him. Sigrid had said once she knew Fili would outlive her, hoping that their children would help him beyond that pain of her loss.

The morning sun glinted off the sharp steel at his shoulder. The King carried his father’s axe, a symbol of his reign from the beginning.  It was said that Durin’s Axe and Helm were still there in the darkness of Moria, a forgotten relic upon their evacuation. Too many lives had been lost then, as was in Erebor when the Dragon came.  Durin’s Bane would not leave because Balin told it too.  It was stupid and greedy, she thought once more, to risk so many lives for an axe and treasures.  No doubt a place would be made for the recovered artifacts in Erebor as the tribe awaited the return of the seventh Durin to come forth.

At Fili’s belt, Willa spied loops of silvery blond braids with jeweled clips to secure the plaits.  She clutched at her husband as she watched the royal family reach the end of the causeway to find Balin at the center of the crowds.  He wore Sigrid’s braids, keeping them close.  She had heard that Fili himself had cut her hair, almost shearing her clean before the linen had been wrapped about her face.  Her body had been placed in the tomb in the treasure vault deep below their feet, with room to spare for her husband when he met his end.

A hush fell over the crowds as the King under the Mountain spoke of legend, time and continuing prosperity. A fine speech, stirring and true but they were words only to Willa and words would not keep her husband safe.  The presentation of the banners went as one might expect, with Balin topping them at the end of pikes to be carried at the vanguard. Once it was all done, many dispersed for their mounts and last good byes to loved ones.

“I will miss you, kurdu min.”  My heart, my love, the sweetest sight my eyes could see. It was the same prayer he had invoked against her skin all the night through as he loved her.

Willa tugged a hand loose to run fingers through his grey beard, wiggling a sigh from him before placing a kiss on his forehead then touching her own to his.  It was all they would allow in public, their passion was a private thing.  The touching of beards and hands or maybe a soft kiss to the brow, his stripling training was hard to overcome even for her. Willa smiled as she watched Oin fight the need to hustle her inside and forget this foolishness as he settled himself between her thighs. The evidence of his interest was quite plain against her leg. Of late, their activities had been more vigorous as the date of his departure loomed ever closer.  Despite his age, Oin had worried that he might not have the stamina for _her_.

Capturing her hand, he kissed the tips of her fingers that had sought his braids. “A year isn’t so long.”  She knew the words had been more for his comfort than her own.  It was a long time to be parted from him who made her heart sing, and hold her in the night.

He reached up and dragged a thumb down her cheek, staring into her eyes. He kissed her, taking his time, parting her lips and sweeping inside her mouth, tasting her until she let her hands crawl up his chest and wrap around his neck.

“I had not thought to love again, Amrậlimê. I had not thought to love as hard as I do...”  Willa bore a guilty countenance, looking away to the others assembled.

Oin looked up on her in confusion.  He must have assumed anything must needs be spoken had been before now. “Speak, wife.”

“Keep yourself safe, tend your injured.” Tears leaked from her eyes that held such fear. “Come home to me, just come back to me, my love. Gori and I have… ”

 “Oh Willa!”   

 Oin swept her into his arms as she cried into his neck.  It hurt, the feelings of loss.  The feelings of doubt.  Willa didn’t say it, couldn’t dispel the gloom of certainty that if her love, the bearer of her heart, walked through the Gates of Moria and raised a lantern to the long dark, he would never come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who has read and loved this story as much as I have..


	76. Master Glossary

Master Glossary

 

Abkarul Hakhd ~ Name of the armored boars that Dain Ironfoot rides into battle. Khudzul meaning Armored tooth for the tusk sheaths they wear

Aeldklif ~ OC Male- Race of Men; Lord of the Helm’s Deep & a Marshall of the Mark in Rohan, Husband of Alfgivia & father to Arnorra and Lifa;  Old Saxon meaning Old Cliff or Crag

Alfgivia ~OC Female- Race of Men; Wife of Aeldklif & mother of Arnorra & Lifa; Daugher of a merchant from Gondor.

Alvitr Udar ~ OC Dwarrowdam – Stiffbeard seer from Kibil Tarag; grandmother to Bais and Kibil, wife of Dain.

Arnorra ~ OC Female- Race of Men (Rohan); Daughter of Aeldklif & Alfgivia, has affection for Dernhelm; Old Saxon for Bird

Bais ~ OC Female – Race of Umli, Arbitur with Glorin.  Sister to the headsman of the Umli, granddaughter to Alvitr Udar.

Balfor ~ OC Dwarf – from the Iron Hills; accompanies Olrun and Skuld and the others to Erebor to help with the boars; leaves with Thorin Stonehelm when he is expelled.

Berker ~ OC Male- Race of Near Harad – servant to Saelwen and brother to Meleki.  Turkish name for vital strong man.

Blain ~ OC Dwarf – A young male assigned to help take care of the young princes, Vian and Fian while Sigrid was bearing.

Bor ~ OC Dwarrow- Firebeard Dwarf married to a Erebor ‘dam, head of the Wool guild.

Boron~ OC Dwarrow - son of Bor, a Stiffbeard. Kazhunki Wyr (Snow Rider) to Glorin, son of Hain Blackflame

Burin ~OC Dwarrow- Born in Erebor before the Dragon came, lost his parents there.  Raised by Oin & Gloin along with Gimli; son of Regin.

Celebeth ~ OC Elf-  From Mirkwood; Came to Erebor to deliver the news about the Spider nest to King Fili; Sindarin means silver word

Daisy ~ Pony of Erebor; injured going across the Misty Mountains by an Orc blade.

Dernhelm ~ OC Male– race of man; Leader of an Eored at Helm’s deep; Arnorra’s intended.

Dingol ~ OC Male- Stoor Hobbit and son of the Headfa of the River Folk. Head of delegation to Erebor for a new materials treaty. Name means silent wisdom

Dirhael ~ OC Male- Dunedain, head of the Rangers of the North; father of Dorlad and Galrean, Grandfather to Estel

Dorlad ~ OC Male- Race of Man from the Dunedain & a Ranger of the North. Son of Dirhael

Duri ~ OC Dwarrow- Erebor Head Guard, brother of Uri

Egil ~ OC Beornling- Attached to Beorn and lived near Carrack; one of the escorts of Bain and Kili over the Misty Mountains through the High Pass. From the Norse Hrolfr Kraki, he was a berserker.

Eir ~ OC Dwarrodam- only surviving child of Snorri son of Sturl; born and raised in the Iron Hills but relocated to the Mountain with her father. Valkyrie name that means mercy

Erethon ~ NC Elf – Naith Lieutenant of Lothlorien, master archer who accompanied Kili, Bain and the others to Dale.  He was killed at the battle of Helm’s deep with Haldir 55 years later.

Farli ~ OC Dwarrow – From the Iron Hills, was tasked to be a guard with Olrun’s group but was replaced by Thorin Stonehelm and took his name to throw off Dwalin.

Fian ~ OC Dwarrow- Crown Prince of Erebor son of Fili and Sigrid

Flandif ~ Tauriel’s horse that chose her as a Rider; _Sindarin for Skin Bark_

Galar ~ OC Dwarrow- Son of Ginner; Vice Chancellor, Balin’s replacement; Khuzdul for Chanter

Gerd ~ OC ‘dam - Norse for ‘Fenced In’ a Jotunn

Gilesgal~ A horse gifted to Tauriel by Aeldklif upon her marriage to Kili; Sindarin for Starshadow

Glawareth~ OC Elf – Sindar healer in Lothlorin who treated Tauriel during her stay. Elvish for radiant sunlight

Glorin ~ OC Dwarrow - son of Hain Blackflame; arbiter sent from the Stiffbeards

Goll ~ OC Dwarrowdam – friend of Herja until she was disgraced. Norse Valkyrie name means battle cry.

Grithur ~ OC Dwarf – Made Fian helmet for Durin’s day.  A master smith

Hain Blackflame ~ OC Dwarf – Chieftain of the Thulin’s Folk, Lord of Kibil-tarag; father of Glorin

Hannar ~ OC Dwarf – Head of the Forges and a member of Fili’s council.

Hadhod ~ OC Dwarf- Son of Gamilhod; in charge of Ered Luin once Dis and Thorin had left. He was part of the council of Elrond. Father Gamilhod- is a made up name with Gamil meaning old.

Herja ~ OC Dwarrowdam- Dau. of Braedi, from Ered Luin; Main protagonist; name comes from the Valkyrie list of _Prose Edda_ meaning to Devastate.. Herja’s father’s name Braedi was the name of a dragon in the Legendarium

Hugin ~ Man of Dale, Captain of the City’s defense.

Jan ~ OC Male -Man of Gondor.  Retired sailor for House Artamirian who cleaned the stables at their Minas Tirith estate.

Jari ~ OC Dwarrow- part of the company that went to the Iron Hills with Dwalin; Nori’s left hand companion on the trip.

Ithiel ~ OC Male- Race of Man; Willa’s assistant who lives with her in Dale. _Sindarin name for Moon_

Isen ~ Bain’s horse named for the Isen river where he was found. A gift of the King of Rohan to Bard upon his coronation.

Kara ~ OC Dwarrowdam – One of the Twins born to King Fili and Queen Sigrid of Erebor. Twin of Rota, sister to Fian and Vian. Name comes from Valkyrie names for Wild Stormy one

Kibil ~ Canon/OC ‘dam - Wife of Dain Ironfoot; Stiffbeard Dwarrowdam and mother of Thorin Stonehelm; _Khudzul means Silver_

Laulumistaja ~ OC dwarrow **-** Son of Sumataja; Stiffbeard Dwarf of Thurin’s Folk; Wore a very impressive gambeson that was a gift from Princess Tilda while he was a patient in the Healing Halls of Minas Tirith; Dwarf friend to Dain Ironfoot; _Khudzul meaning for Song maker_

Lifa~ OC Race of Man – Daughter of Alfgivia and Aeldklif of Rohan, Old English name for Life

Maring ~ OC Man – Race of Man from Gondor.  Tauriel chocked him when he pulled off her hood in Aldburg, a guardian for Tarthalion, Sindarin for cold house

Meleki ~ OC Female – Race of Near Harad. Slave companion to Saelwen of Gondor. Turkish for Angel.

Menelcar ~ OC Man – Race of Man from Gondor. Head of the guardians who rode in Tarthalion’s company from Rohan; Sindarian for Skyhelm

Nimgond ~ OC Man – Race of Man from Gondor. Menelcar’s young cousin, his first trip as a guardian and decent archer. Sinda for White stone.

Olgr ~ OC Dwarf – Son of Tarag and Olrun’s brother, husband to Verdandi and father to Vigdis and Vigg. Khudzul for protector

Olrun ~ OC Dwarrowdam- From the Iron Hills, sister to Olgr; beloved of Dwalin;  Valkyrie name means ale rune – also Bavarian goddess of pregnancy

 _Ottar ~_ OC Child of Dale – Assistant to Willa Wheat and helps around the house.

Pelegond ~ OC Man- Dunedain who owns the Tavern in the Dunedain village that Kili, Bain & Dorlad visited after Rivendell.

Rekikoirat ~ Working Dogs that pulled sleds for Thulin’s Folk.  They are larger than regular dogs but not so tall as Wargs.  Hati, Kili’s pet, is a mixed breed of Rekikoirat dam and Warg sire.

Reklar ~ OC Dwarrow- Hunter Guard of Sigrid, Queen under the Mountain.

Rota ~ OC Dwarrowdam – One of the Twins born to King Fili and Queen Sigrid of Erebor. Twin of Kara, sister to Fian and Vian. Name comes from Valkyrie list that means snow and sleet

Saelwen ~ OC Female – the race of Man; near sister to Lord Tarthalion and lives in the dower house at the Minas Tirith estate. Sindarin for Wise woman

Sigewulf ~ OC Man – Man of Rohan, living in Upbourne and an old friend of Aeldklif.

Silinde ~ OC female – the race of Man; intended of Uri and friends with Sigrid when they lived in laketown; _Sindarin for Shining Song_

Skirfir~ OC Dwarrow- son of Skafith; Master of all Guilds

Skögul ~ OC/Canon Dwarrowdam- Wife to King Thror and mother to Thrain; the Water chamber was designed by her due to her love of the Long Lake. Valkyrie name means Shaker

Skuld ~ OC Dwarrowdam – Daughter of Linnar, chieftain of the Broadbeams living near the Iron Court.  Escorted to Erebor as a possible bride for young Fian. Name come from one of the Wyrd sisters means the future.

Snorri~ OC Dwarrow- son of Sturl, escaped the mountain when the Dragon came, lost a son to war in the Iron Hills, lost his other son in the Great Battle.  Relocated back to Erebor with his last child Eir.

Sumataja ~ OC Dwarrow- Father of Laulumistaja, first of Thurin’s Folk to slay a dragon; _Khudzul meaning Slayer_

Svava~ OC Dwarrowdam- name given to Oin & Gloin’s mother; wife of Groin; Valkyrie name means sleep maker.

Svipul ~ OC Dwarrowdam- Ironfist Grandmother who came with the spring caravan, contemporary of Herja’s

Tarthalion ~ OC Male –  from Gondor of the House of Artamirian; he is in semi retirement and acts as fabric merchant while his sons run their House from Pelagar. _Sindarin name for noble and steadfast_

Thekk~ OC Dwarf- Son of Tindri and brother of Thrud; he works with Oin in the healing halls; sometimes helps his sister make her clothes; _Khuzdul for clever_

Thrud ~ OC Dwarrowdam- Daughter of Tindri; part of Herja’s group but worked against her.

Tindri ~ OC Dwarrow- Father of Thrud and Threkk; second position in the mines after Bofur.

Trima~OC Dwarrowdam- wife of Balin son of Fundin; Died when the Smaug came; Valkyrie’s name meaning fight.

Unnarr ~ OC Dwarrow – went with Dwalin to the Iron Hills

Uri ~ OC Dwarrow- member of Sigrid’s personal guard; intended of Silinde; _Khudzul meaning smith_

Verdandi ~OC Dwarrowdam- Wife of Olfgr and mother of Vigg and Vigdis; trains boars for Dain Ironfoot.. name come from one of the Wyrd sisters represents the present time.

Vian ~ OC Dwarrow- second heir of Erebor; second born son of Fili and Sigrid

Vigdis ~OC  Dwarrowdam- daughter of Olgr and Verdandi, a Broadbeam Dwarrowdam from Linnar’s folk but serves as head of a sounder to Dain Ironfoot. _Khudzul for War Goddess_

Vigg ~ OC dwarrow- Brother to Vigdis and son of Verdandi and Olgr; attached to Zigal and helped smuggled clothes and other personal items from the Iron Court to Erebor for his family to escape.

Vali ~ OC Dwarrow- of Thurin’s Folk, husband of Dis and father of Kili and Fili; known also as Vali Barukasi son of Bavor; _Khudzul Barukasi means Axehand_

Voland ~ OC Beornling- Escorted Kili and Bain across the Misty Mountains until they met the Rangers of the North. from the Norse Hrolfr Kraki, he was a blacksmith

Warg ~ Kili’s pony, a gift from Grimbeorn because the pony disrupted his herd.

Weland ~ OC – race of Man; Herd master for Helm’s deep; Old Norse for craft

Werrmund ~ OC – race of man; a Rider of Helm’s Deep from Aldburg; goes home in disgrace after a fight with Kili.. name comes from was the king of the Angles and father of Offa, might have been a grandson of Woden

Willa Wheat ~ OC Race of Man- born of a Half Dwarf mother and Mannish father, has a brother who moved to Minas Tirith, widowed healer of Dale, married Oin also known as Urd of the Broadbeams – Urd, one of the Wyrd sisters, represents Fate

Yavien ~ OC Female – race of Man-  Housekeeper servant to House Artamirian in Gondor; means Autumn; was also the name of the only daughter of King Tar Amandil of Numenor.

Zigal ~ OC dwarrow- ambassador from Dain Ironfoot to the Erebor; shot in the hand by Kili with an arrow when he tried to pull a sword in front of Fili’s throne

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first LOTR fanfic I wrote after watching DOS. A few chapters in, I got the bright idea of Dwarves on motorcycles..I can't promise regular updates because the I am really wanting to finish up with my other story.. but since BOFA is out and I know that my favorite couple will probably die(not watching! not listening!) I thought I would try to get it out there.  
> Non Beta'd...but thank you so much for reading ! ; 0)
> 
> I don't own this.. my idea puppies are on the loose in middle earth and the little bastards are not letting me sleep ! lol


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